Behind Closed Doors
by coffeemione
Summary: DISCONTINUED - With Voldemort defeated, new evil has risen. Incidents concerning powerful mind control begin occuring at Hogwarts, so Hermione Granger is called to the scene to investigate. Can a grudge be forgotten in order to save the world in time?
1. Prologue: Love is Blinding

**Disclaimer:** I don't know why we're required to add these, since everyone on this website obviously doesn't own most of what they write. Still, it looks cool. As usual, I don't own any characters unless you've never heard of them before. There's quite a few of those, actually. I also own the plot… just to let you know.

**Author's Notes:** Well, long time no see! I haven't written anything for fanfiction.net since January, when I was working on my Pirates of the Caribbean story. Sadly, those days have passed, and once again I am completely focused on Harry Potter. I've moved on slightly, though, from writing young stories about what will happen to the trio in their sixth year – quite too amateurish for me. Instead, I am now writing post-Hogwarts fics, like this one you happen to be reading now. Since I am starting anew, I plan to absolutely forget all my old, unfinished stories, and actually try to finish this one. The plot is very appealing to me.

And, as you've most likely noticed, I've changed my username again to symbolize the start of a new writing era (in my mind, at least.)

So, read on, comrades (I know this chapter is short), and gimme all your lovin' in reviews. Thank you…

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**BEHIND CLOSED DOORS**

**PROLOGUE – LOVE IS BLINDING**

_Six years ago, the famous trio graduated from Hogwarts. Their graduation day, however, was not one of joy and anticipation. Lord Voldemort had been defeated only a week before by young Harry Potter. This time, the Boy Who Lived battled alone, without the once ever-present support of his loyal friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Misunderstandings of what caused their absence in the fight against evil forced Harry to isolate himself from his best friends the following week, soon to turn into the following years._

_While the trio thought their problems had reached an ultimate high, arguments broke out between Ron and Hermione (at the time, very close boyfriend and girlfriend)._

_"I want to make my life meaningful, Ron!" Hermione had shouted in his face the morning of their graduation. "I don't want to settle down if I can still make a difference in the world!"_

_"Stop thinking of only your own self for once," Ron responded. "What about me? And us? Why can't your life ever revolve around something other than work?"_

_"It isn't my fault you don't care about your future," Hermione snapped. She turned her back to Ron to hide the tears slowly trickling down her face. "But I suppose it _is _my fault for refusing to believe you'll never change. Now I realize that it's true. You've never cared for anyone except yourself and what _you_ want."_

_"That – that's not true," Ron mumbled, his voice cracking. Hermione had struck him a hard blow this time. "You know it isn't. I care for you. I love you."_

_"Oh, you _love _me? You really think you do? You don't know what real love is, Ron. Yeah, you love your broomstick and you love Quidditch, but you don't know how to love me. I can't be with someone who doesn't love me."_

_"Hermione –"_

_But Hermione didn't stay long enough to hear Ron's protest. She had hung on long enough over the years, even when she probably shouldn't have. "Love is blinding," she thought. "And I was blinded by it all these years". Hermione flew from the room to hide her now heavy sobs and slammed the door so powerfully that several portraits fell to the floor._

_The slam of the door shattered Ron's dreams and closed an old chapter of his life all at once. He knew it was over this time; over for good. While Hermione had walked out on him, crying, several times before in his life, she would always come back, they would say their apologies and the world would be right again._

_This time, he knew it was different. She wouldn't come back. His stupidity had cost him their love – forever. And there was nothing at all he could do about it._

_She had lost her best friend and boyfriend. He had lost his best friend and girlfriend. Their own love and caring for one another actually drove them all to fear and doubt. But they all vowed to move on with their lives and make them significant. The past could not haunt them._

_But the renowned Hogwarts trio had been so blinded by love that they believed their hatred for one another to be true. And that is why, on that very day, a strong grudge was formed in each of their minds._

_Of course, none of them knew that grudges didn't last forever._


	2. A Haunting Nightmare

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to the few yet wonderful people who reviewed my story so far. Yeah, I know the last chapter didn't really give you a glimpse of my story at all, but this chapter is mighty long and makes up for it. And for the person who asked: this story is NOT a one-shot. I have a long way to go yet. So grab a Coke – or, if you prefer like me, a red crème soda – and get ready for a chapter which is mostly all flashback. Don't you just love those? And at the end, you can show how much you love me by reviewing!

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**CHAPTER ONE – A HAUNTING NIGHTMARE**

"_Good day, __London__! It is __seven o'clock__ in the morning and you are listening to WLRN. I'm Brock Stevens, this hour's host, and coming up next in the top ten countdown is –_"

"I could care less," mumbled Hermione groggily while reaching unsuccessfully for the radio on the bedside stand, trying to shut it off. "Don't know why I ever bought that thing."

The day was young as a lethargic twenty-three year old Hermione Granger crawled out of her warm bed and fumbled around the room for her fluffy pink slippers. An entire day of stressful work was ahead of her, but at the moment, the only thought that flashed across her dazed mind was "make strong coffee".

Hermione's morning routine was the same every day of the week: wake up to loud and annoying music, stub your toe once or twice while trying to get out of your bedroom, burn your tongue by drinking scorching tasteless coffee, and throw on the nearest robe in order to be on time for work. Life was so brutal.

After finding the strongest coffee available in the large apartment kitchen, Hermione turned on the Muggle television and collapsed in a hard, rigid chair at the table. On top of the sparkling linoleum was a large pile of different-sized letters, all bearing the same name stamped on the back of the envelopes: _THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC._ With a sigh, Hermione shoved the letters to the side of the table, not in the mood to go through them at the moment. During the night, she left the kitchen window open as she knew the Ministry was constantly shipping off owls to her house with news and tips concerning her work at all hours of the day. Rarely did she ever open a single one of them.

Hermione diverted her attention to the anchorwoman on the television screen. She was standing in front of a smoldering building (or what was left of it, anyway) and moving her arms intricately to gesture at the ruins behind her.

"… at five in the morning. Investigators are not at liberty to reveal their theories on what caused the horrendous fire, but it is believed that the investigators have not yet reached a conclusion at all. The burning of this shoe warehouse was as deadly as it was suspicious. Not a single can of lighter fluid nor any other evidence has been found. This is Marcia Scott, and now back to you, Ben."

The screen changed as Ben, London's favorite news host, appeared with a large, toothy grin on his face. Hermione shut the television off and walked across the kitchen to pour the biggest cup of coffee she could.

Life for the young, inspiring adult was at its ultimate high. Hermione was impressed with her living accommodations (a six-room apartment on the eleventh floor of a renowned London complex), her relationships (she was currently seeing no one and definitely liked it that way), and, most of all, her career. Working as a top secret agent for the British Ministry of Magic wasn't the dream job she had always wanted, but it sure was pretty amazing. She had traveled to all seven continents at least five times each; caught notorious bandits of wizardry in the midst of their evil schemes; and won the Most Valuable Witch award for her department three years in a row. She had to admit that there wasn't much more she could ask for.

A sudden tapping on the window directly in front of her face caused Hermione to jump, spilling the fiery coffee in her hand on the floor. A dark owl was wavering in the air, angrily pecking the glass with its sharp beak. Ignoring the coffee stains on her tiles, Hermione unlocked the window and ducked as the owl flew in, dropped a bulky dark envelope on her table, and zoomed off through the trees.

_As if I don't have enough trash in my kitchen already_, Hermione thought irritably. The letters the Ministry sent her were junk, anyway.

But the large crimson envelope held her attention for far many more seconds than it should have. It looked rather intimidating, perched atop the pile of letters, darker in color than the rest and superior in size. It seemed to whisper the words _"open me… read me…_", or maybe that was just the voice in the back of Hermione's head. But what could this mysterious letter contain? Perhaps it was a thank you from the American Minister. Hermione _did_ save San Francisco from being blown to pieces by terrorists, after all. Or maybe it was from that Austria bloke, whatever his name was, asking Hermione to come back for a ceremony in her name. She did deserve one, after rescuing his wife from a villain's clutches in a hot-air balloon thousands of feet above the country.

A letter that mystifying didn't look too friendly, Hermione decided. It was probably a death threat from Jacques Pierre, France's latest in the insane dark wizard category. Imprisoning him in Azkaban for seventy years didn't exactly propose a positive relationship between the two. No, it really looked more to be along the lines of work by Dr. Achjonspielwhatever, the mad German Muggle-killer Hermione had caught four years ago while roaming the streets of Berlin. Actually, it could've been sent by –

"Oh, God, it's just a stupid letter," Hermione muttered aloud before reaching across the table to grab the crimson letter that was causing so much curiosity in her mind. She tore off the envelope bearing the Ministry of Magic seal and extracted the paper inside.

"Damn."

"_MISS GRANGER,_" roared a ferocious voice, filling the entire room. "_I DO BELIEVE YOU ARE FAILING TO OPEN AND READ YOUR WORK LETTERS AGAIN. FURTHERMORE, I PRESUME YOU ARE UNAWARE OF THE FIRE THAT OCCURRED AT __FIVE O'CLOCK__ THIS MORNING __ON WESTCHESTER BOULEVARD, SOUTH__ OF __SURREY__."_

Hermione should have known it was a Howler. She herself had not received any before, but she knew of several people who had. The intimidating envelope, the dark, crimson color… now there was nothing to do but sit and listen to the words of her angry boss. She could only pray the neighbors wouldn't come knocking on her door.

"Westchester Boule – that's the warehouse that burned down," Hermione muttered, beginning to sort through the clues and fit them together. It was a Ministry spy skill she had developed over the years.

"_NOT DONE BY MUGGLES, GRANGER,_" continued the voice. It was growing louder and louder with every sentence. _"NOT DONE BY MUGGLES! IT WAS CLEARLY THE WORK OF OUR KIND. BUT YOU'D ALREADY KNOW THAT HAD YOU BEEN KEEPING UP WITH YOUR MAIL! THIS CASE SHOULD HAVE BEEN SOLVED THIS MORNING AT __FIVE O'CLOCK__ – WHEN THE LETTER ASKING YOU TO ATTEND THE CRIME SCENE WAS SENT OUT! YOU'RE SLACKING OFF, GRANGER. YOU'RE OUR TOP SPY AND I ABSOLUTELY _WON'T _HAVE THIS HAPPEN. I WANT TO SEE YOU IN MY OFFICE PROMPLTY ONE HOUR FROM NOW, OR YOU'LL NEVER HAVE THE __OPPORTUNITY__ TO RECEIVE ANOTHER HOWLER FROM ME AGAIN!"_

"Wouldn't want to miss that chance," mumbled Hermione. She was slightly shaken by the Howler sent from her boss, though. Slacking off didn't fit into her job description. And she couldn't afford to get fired – no, she _wouldn't_ get fired. She was _Hermione Granger_, after all.

* * *

An hour later, dressed in her most impressive black suit carrying her most impressive (empty) briefcase and with her hair up in the most impressively ridiculous bun ever, Hermione Granger marched down the crowded London streets, feeling like the regular Muggle businesswoman. It was rather a shame that she missed the commotion present on the roads of London when she usually just Apparated to work. This morning, however, she had time to spare and decided to take a walk to work instead.

True, Hermione had morphed into a rather different person since she graduated from school. No longer was she the studious bookworm her classmates had always envied; now, Hermione could be described as an attractive young lady with a definite sense of adventure. She had developed such a sense over the years from being a secret agent for the Ministry and traveling the world. In fact, if any of her old _acquaintances_ from her school days could see her now, they would most likely drop dead in shock (probably because Hermione had learned to straighten her hair. She had to admit, it _was_ quite frightening.)

A couple with a small child passed Hermione, all three of them laughing uproariously. The mother ruffled the daughter's curly hair, swept her into her arms, and kissed her all over the forehead as they continued down the street.

_I wonder what it's like to still have parents,_ Hermione wondered silently, while haunting memories came quickly and unwillingly gushing back into her mind.

_[FLASHBACK]_

_The night was dark and rainy. Though the times were dangerous, Hermione had left her parents at home for a brief time to assist the Order. They had been on the lookout for several murderous Death Eaters for months, and Ron had just Owled her with a new lead. After explaining how much she was needed, she said goodbye to her parents for what unexpectedly turned out to be the last time._

_Along with other prominent Order members, Hermione traveled the city in search of clues concerning the Death Eaters' whereabouts. When things started looking positive, the group followed a series of signs that would hopefully lead them to the site where the Death Eaters were planning to strike next. Hermione was quickly growing in anticipation while wondering if the chase would result in a violet confrontation or not._

_The hunt was coming to an end, and as the group (traveling by broomsticks) lowered to the ground through the thick fog, an unusual and deathly silence surrounded Hermione and her fellow trackers._

_Then, a panicked shout rang through the night that caused Hermione's heart to stop. "Oh, my god – Hermione!" The voice belonged to Tonks, who stood at the front of the group. The terror in her tone alarmed Hermione at once. A chorus of gasps and murmurs followed her cry and when Hermione pushed through to the front of the small crowd, her stomach dropped a good five feet and feelings of nausea started coming like tidal waves._

_In front of her eyes stood a smoldering and completely destroyed building – the building that had once been her own home._

_Harry and Ron automatically appeared at her side, their jaws a mile long. The entire group was silent for several long minutes, lost in shock, while it really seemed to Hermione like several long lifetimes. Standing in front of her burning home was one of the most trying times in Hermione's entire life. It was a moment that haunted her dreams every night for years to come. The emotion of knowing that her hospitable, loving home was ablaze merely fifty feet from where she was standing nearly caused Hermione's early death._

_"Oh, my – Oh, God, oh…," were the only words Hermione's mouth could utter. She felt like someone had thrust something large and heavy into her stomach, taking her breath away. Then the awful truth slowly dawned on her, causing Hermione to reflex automatically._

_"My parents."___

_She stepped forward, hardly able to believe she could still move her legs, and began moving towards her ruined home at a slow walk. Then it turned into a jog, then a run, and then a full-out sprint. She didn't care about the flames ahead of her – the only thing on her mind was the condition of her parents._

_She hadn't gotten very far when tugs on her arms and yells of, "Hermione!" broke her concentration. While it had seemed that everything was happening in slow motion when the sight of her burning home met her eyes, the world was moving once again and Hermione caught glance of Order members flashing past her, running towards the blazing structure. Neighbors that Hermione recognized were piling out of their homes and standing on their doorsteps in bathrobes and pajamas. Sirens blared in the distance, lights of police cars behind her reflected in the windows of the surrounding houses, and incomprehensible shouts filled the clammy night air._

_Their search had been definitely been fruitful. The Death Eaters had chosen Hermione's own home as their next attack. Unfortunately, they had not arrived on the scene in time._

_A truck came to a screeching halt in the background and dozens of yellow-clad firemen appeared on all sides of Hermione, some carrying water hoses, others carrying axes and hatchets. They disappeared into the home without so much as a flinch while water spewed from ten different gigantic hoses, trying to put out the raging fire._

Why am I still standing here?_ Hermione thought to herself as she watched a firefighter put out a flame on his pantleg. _My parents are still in there, and that's where I should be!

_She shifted forward in attempts to escape the hands that were holding her back but did not succeed. Two people were forcefully keeping her in place and wouldn't let her budge at all. Hermione began to grow hysterical, repeating, "Let me go! My parents need me!" to her captors. She waved her arms elaborately and strained her muscles to break away from the human hands that bound her to the spot like chains._

_"Hermione, stop," commanded a harsh yet soothing voice. She awkwardly slumped in place, having given up hope of freedom, and didn't try to restrain her tears. They flowed freely, mingling with the hair that was hanging over her face._

_"Come on, Hermione. It's okay."_

_Hermione looked up to see Harry and Ron standing above her, holding her arms back in case she would attempt another escape. Their eyes were round and full of pure concern for her. And they all were thinking the same thought, but it was Hermione who was brave enough to voice it._

_"They're dead."_

_"No, they're not," said Ron with false confidence._

_"They're dead. They're gone. I couldn't save them in time."_

_Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to respond to such a comment. "They aren't dead. And it isn't your fault, Hermione."_

_Hermione's head flipped up to stare Ron in the eyes. "I'm the one who left them alone, Ron, when I knew I shouldn't have! It's my own fault that they're dead! If I had stayed home, then I could've –"_

_"You could've what?" Harry asked. "You could've fought of a dozen Death Eaters all on your own? You could've saved them?"_

_"It isn't your fault," Ron repeated softly. He was about to open his mouth a second time and add, "You don't know that they're dead," but it would have been pointless. As much as none of them wanted to admit, they all knew the truth – Hermione's parents were dead._

_Hermione knew it, too. She knew they were dead. And she honestly believed it was her own fault and her mistake that had cost them their lives. Glancing up again at the horrific scene before her caused her to unexpectedly fling her arms around Ron's neck and sob hysterically._

_"It's – okay," Ron said uncertainly, patting her on the head. He and Harry too gazed at Hermione's ruined home and the wizards and firefighters trying to extinguish the flames. It was nearly impossible to believe that only two days ago, the trio had been sitting in that very house, sipping tea with the Grangers and discussing the situations at hand._

_They stood like that for a long time, deeply immersed in thought and transfixed by the sight. When a frazzled looking Arthur Weasley emerged from the collapsing doorway, followed by several other wizards, the trio broke apart to hear the news he carried._

_"Look at this," he called shakily. In his hands appeared to be a scorched piece of wood. "We found this laying in the kitchen –"_

_A group formed around him to examine the mysterious object he possessed. Hermione unsteadily moved toward Arthur with Harry and Ron, inconspicuously holding Ron's hand._

_"What is it, Arthur?" asked Molly. Arthur glanced around at the firefighters and the gathered neighbors before holding the plank of wood out for the group to see. "Look at the initials burned into this wood," he said, pointing._

_Two visible letters were carved into the wood, either by fire or magic. Every member of the group gasped and recognized the symbol right away, as they had seen it in attacked homes countless times before._

_"B.L.," Harry said. "That's –"_

_"Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione murmured. On every scene that had been assaulted by Death Eaters, the initials of Bellatrix could be found. Leaving her mark on the homes she had demolished came to be her villainous trademark._

_While the rest of the group moved away to examine other remnants of the house and converse with the authorities, only one thought remained on Hermione's mind._

_Bellatrix Lestrange had killed her parents._

Hermione had made it her life mission to track down Lestrange and punish her for killing her parents. She would stop at nothing to make sure this merciless woman who had murdered so many innocent families before would not do so again.

When Hermione looked up from the ground where she had been watching her feet rhythmically step right then step left, she realized that she was already at work. The flashback of that horrific night had made her oblivious to the outside world. Unfortunately, she had missed most of the hustle of the Muggle life that she had ventured out for in the first place.

Remembering suddenly that her boss had seemed quite perturbed the last time they spoke (well, the last time _he _spoke, and rather deafeningly too), Hermione quickly began to pray that she wasn't about to get fired in the next five minutes.


	3. You're Being Reassigned

**Author's Notes:** You know, it always starts out this way. I'll write a story fanatically for a few days with a surplus of updates, and then my dedication slowly starts to decrease until I discard the story for something else. Don't let this happen. YOU can reduce Fan Fiction Dedication Decrease Disorder (FFDDD… interesting) today by simply reviewing at the end of every chapter! It's honestly that simple! _Saving lives one review at a time…_

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far. It means so much to me. I've received a couple unusual reviews that I feel I need to respond to, so here goes.

**blacktulip****:** Thanks for reviewing, but I'm afraid I'm a bit in the dark here. What did you mean by "you seem a bit cocky" and "hope it's as good as you say it'll be"? I'm not sure where I expressed cockiness. Sorry if I did.

**Badbugz:** I'm not sure if that post was exactly constructive criticism, but thank you anyway. You shouldn't jump to conclusions and ask so many questions just after two chapters. Perhaps I should have stated at the beginning of the story that more history would be revealed along the way, because that's the way this story works for the first few chapters. I hate stories that throw a ton of information at you right away, and I like working little flashbacks and snippets in slowly at different times, all right? Really, how can you say "it seems kind of dull" when it's just started? Don't a lot of stories get off to slow starts? You can't expect something to come along and just WOW you out of this earth. Thanks for saying that my story's pretty original… I think. You said most stories don't have the Golden Trio breaking up, but I guess my story isn't like the other ones out there. Why wouldn't I try to write something unique? You also say it's "too short." What, the prologue or the first chapter too? Yes, the prologue was short, I _said _it wasn't going to be long, but I hardly think the first chapter was very short. I guess it's just a matter of opinion on how short or long something is. "A prologue and one chapter is not enough to get me interested," is what you wrote. Well, a prologue and one chapter is usually just the start of a story, and most people usually begin to read a story from the start. Don't you want to wait in anticipation for an author to update a story, and don't you want to follow it along and try to guess at what comes next? That's the fun in the reading/reviewing process. I don't understand why someone would post their entire story at one time. Most readers don't have enough time to sit down and read a whole story all at once, you know? I hope you keep reviewing my work; I'd like to know what you think. I was just a little frazzled by your review.

I also apologize to anyone who wondered if this story was a one-short or not after reading the prologue. Obviously, it's not. I suppose I should have made that clearer at the beginning, but if you were paying attention, you would have realized nothing in the summary was included in the prologue. Hence, the words "PROLOGUE – LOVE IS BLINDING" at the top of the page. :p

And the "WIA" isn't very clever, I know. Only one letter changed. If anyone can come up with something better, you'll get a chapter dedication and a million dollars. (Kidding about that last one.)

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**CHAPTER TWO – "YOU'RE BEING REASSIGNED"**

Regular, customary confusion and hubbub was what Hermione encountered upon entering the Ministry of Magic main hall. Even in all its commotion, it still looked absolutely splendid. Of course, Hermione had seen this hall nearly every day for the past six years, but it never ceased to amaze her.

For a moment, Hermione stopped to watch wizards randomly appear out of the innumerable fireplaces lining the side walls. She tried to suppress a giggle when an extremely short wizard stumbled out of a fireplace and did an odd flip to catch his balance, only to land at a posh witch's feet. Another woman some fifteen feet away was walking backwards while trying to balance several cups of coffee and a massive stack of papers in her arms at the same time. She would undoubtedly soon collide with one of the other unaware wizards scurrying around (though Hermione was sure no one else was walking backwards quite like this woman was).

The fountain in the center of the room was still flowing grandly, as it always did. Hermione noticed several young wizards and witches leaning against the stone structure, all with silly grins plastered on their faces. Hermione recognized them immediately; they were fresh recruits for a new project opening in the Spell Damage department, and they obviously had no idea what they were doing (just last week Hermione had caught them in the cafeteria levitating the chairs and tables while their occupants were still seated in them).

Hermione knew the adolescents were supposed to be in training instead of socializing and was about to tell them off, but a nearby squeal caused her to stiffen in apprehension. She looked over her shoulder to see a young witch known as Josie Hacklebush, the frenzied and unorganized assistant Headmistress at Hogwarts, practically sprinting down the hall towards Hermione.

"_Hermione_!" she called excitedly. "Hermione, it's me, Josie! _Hermione_!"

Hermione winced. Josie had only been the assistant at Hogwarts for a short time and still wasn't sure how to handle it. She was given the job immediately after Dumbledore's unexpected death two years ago as there was no one else available for the post at the time. Professor Minerva McGonagall automatically became the head, naturally, but Hermione had to admit, Hogwarts was never the same after Dumbledore's departure.

And, from the looks of things, as long as Josie worked there, things would never be the same again.

"Hello, Josie," Hermione said in false exuberance as Josie skidded to a halt before her. The girl was around the age of twenty, only a few years younger than Hermione, and was possibly the most unstructured person Hermione knew. She was appropriately kind, of course – if not a little eccentric at times – but she absolutely _worshipped_ Hermione almost to a point of obsession. "You're a living goddess," Josie told Hermione upon their first meeting. It was then that Hermione learned to evade spending excess time with Josie Hacklebush.

Josie brushed aside the frizzy blonde hair that was falling from her messy bun out of her eyes and pushed her glasses up the slope of her nose. "Did you hear about that fire this morning, Hermione? I saw it on the Muggle news and it's in the paper. Do you get the paper, Hermione? Did you read it this morning? The _Daily Prophet_ did a really big article on it –"

_God, how much coffee did _she _have this morning?_ Hermione thought impatiently. She had time to walk to work, daydream, and marvel at the magnificence of the Ministry hall, but she really didn't have time to stand around and listen to Josie jabber.

"Really, Josie? I –"

"Mr. Lawson had me come into his office this morning because he said that Minerva is going to be out for the next week for meetings or something like that, I'm not very sure, but he wants _me_ to run Hogwarts while she's gone, and I couldn't believe it at all, because I've never run something before by myself and I don't really know what to do but Bella said she would give me some pointers in case the students get out of hand, which I hope they don't, because I don't really want to give Minerva a bad report when she gets back or she'll think I didn't do a good job running the school and I'll never get to fill in for her again or get a pay raise or –"

"That's quite a run-on sentence," Hermione corrected her without thinking. Josie blinked several times in question, most likely surprised at being interrupted in the midst of an important conversation. "Never mind. Listen, did Mr. Lawson say anything about me this morning?"

"You?" Josie asked, her eyes growing wide in idolism. "You, Hermione? Why would Mr. Lawson ever say anything about _you_? You're his favorite employee. He would _never _say anything about you. He _was_ talking about that odd fire that sprang up this morning, though. Where was it? A tire barn? A grocery? And he mentioned something about Death Eaters too, I think."

"I was just wondering, since this morning he sent me a Ho –"

Hermione was cut off when an earsplitting scream followed by several loud thuds silenced the entire room. Looking behind her, Hermione found that the woman who had been walking backwards finally collided with someone and they were both lying tangled on the shiny wooden floor in a large sea of pieces and rolls of parchment.

"ROGERS!" shouted a boiling Mr. Lawson, the man that had collided with the woman (who was also Hermione's boss and the same Mr. Lawson Josie had been rambling on about just moments before). "I've spilled my coffee on your papers," he noted, bending down to look at one, "… which happen to be the recordings from this morning's Macadam trial!"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Lawson," the backwards woman mumbled continuously while unsuccessfully trying to wipe the permanent coffee stains off the important parchment. "I'll just use a quick spell to get this off… I'm so very sorry, I'll be more careful next time…"

"There won't be a _next time_ if the coffee doesn't come out of those recordings," Lawson spat, pushing himself to his feet. He examined the brown coffee dots on his white silk tie for several moments and shouted after the woman as she scurried away, "And you owe me another tie."

Duke Lawson was a tall and quite attractive man of around forty years. He didn't much look like a wizard; his expensive color-coded business suits would give a complete stranger the impression that he worked for a high-paying company somewhere in the heart of London. Hermione, of course, knew better than to think that of Duke Lawson.

He was the global head of the Wizard Intelligence Agency (or the WIA, as it was most commonly called), which was Hermione's department of specialization at the Ministry. Working alongside the Aurors, slinking around suspicious scenes, gathering clues, and catching the evil-doers was what this man lived for. _No wonder he isn't married,_ Hermione thought countless times.

As soon as Lawson straightened his jacket and readjusted his splotched tie, he caught sight of Hermione standing next to Josie (who was currently bouncing from foot to foot and waving at various people around the room.) Hermione gulped and studied the suit he was wearing. _He's dressed in gray today,_ Hermione thought nervously. _Okay, gray, that means he's… anxious?_

She shook her head, realizing she honestly spent too much time studying her boss's wardrobe.

"GRANGER!" Lawson shouted, turning several heads. "Granger, it's about time you showed up. And you're late again."

"How can I be late when we're not in your office?" Hermione countered.

"Don't get smart with me, Granger; we've got matters to attend to straight away. Follow me," he added, flattening his tie once more before marching away down the hall.

"Hi, Mr. Lawson!" Josie called merrily to his retreating back. She received no answer.

Hermione lamentably followed her still infuriated boss up several floors in the stuffy elevator, down two narrow hallways, up three staircases, down five more, and round a corner before they arrived at the entrance to the WIA headquarters. Lawson pushed open the sparkling glass doors that showed a reflection of an aggravated boss and a timid employee.

Inside was an entirely separate world from the rest of the building. Much like in the Auror headquarters, the room was split up into cubicles for each agent. Tall glass windows occupying two whole walls illuminated the busy room in brilliant magical sunlight (the Ministry was located below ground, and when it was remodeled four years ago, it was decided that fake windows would be installed to bring brightness into the gloomy workrooms). Owls of all breeds were constantly arriving and departing with official-looking envelopes in their beaks. Papers that really had no meaning to the agents were stacked against desks around the room while the agents themselves were busy scribbling in their notepads, hanging over the cubicles having heated conversations with their neighbors, or examining oddly drawn maps of different continents. Sometimes a day off from such commotion wasn't such a bad thing. Hermione, however, wouldn't want to work anywhere else for her life.

"Take them off," a blonde woman Hermione knew as Marcia was commanding a man across the aisle from her cubicle. "You look absolutely ridiculous, Dan."

"Why?" Dan asked. "Everyone's wearing them. Bertie over in cubicle twenty-nine charmed his so the lenses change colors every two minutes."

"Take them off!" Marcia repeated exasperatedly. "Dan, _no one_ wears sunglasses inside."

"Muggle spies do," Dan protested, pointing to the dark glasses covering his eyes. "Haven't you ever watched those Muggle movies with the agents that wear black sunglasses while on duty?"

"No," Marcia said bluntly. "They look stupid. And no, I _won't_ put a pair on, either."

Dan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Come on, Marcia. We're getting everyone to do it. Chris and Betsy put a pair in everyone's mailboxes yesterday."

The sunglasses dispute continued on while Hermione trailed behind Lawson to the other side of the room where the private offices were located. Along the way, she couldn't help but notice several other employees sporting the dark sunglasses. For a moment, she wondered why she hadn't received a pair in _her_ mailbox.

"I didn't order two _thousand_ leeches, Mildred, I ordered two _hundred_!" a woman was shouting into a nearby fireplace. The head of the other woman, Mildred, was moving her mouth quite rapidly to respond to the frantic woman's complaints.

"Don't know why you need leeches anyway, Karen. They suck the blood right out of you, they do," Mildred replied simply.

"I _know_ what they do! Just cancel the order immediately or I'll have them suck the blood out of _you!_"

_The joys of the office life,_ Hermione thought contentedly.

Bringing her eyes back forward, she noticed they had arrived at Lawson's office. Two doors down was Hermione's own private office. For a moment she felt rather proud at having her own office to herself and away from the leech lover and the sunglasses couple, but her moment of pride quickly disappeared as Lawson ushered her into his office.

"Take a seat, Miss Granger."

When Hermione had settled into one of Lawson's squishy green armchairs and Duke himself was positioned behind his notable chestnut desk, their eyes met and Hermione sensed a feeling of seriousness in what he was about to say.

"This morning at approximately five o'clock, a fire broke out at a shoe warehouse near Surrey. Did you or did you not know about this?"

Hermione gulped, remembering the Howler again. "I – I was sleeping at the time, but I did see it on the Muggle news."

"You were sleeping," Lawson stated incredulously. "I see. A good agent would have been sleeping at five o'clock, but a great agent would have been ready if an occasion that they were needed for came up."

Hermione nodded slowly, knowing she _was _a great agent, but great agents had to get their rest, too. She was quite unsure where the conversation was going, really.

"True, there wasn't much you could have accomplished had you been there. Any simpleton could've figured out the fire was started by Death Eaters."

"What?" Hermione asked, taken aback by Lawson's last two words. She then remembered Josie mentioning Death Eaters in their short encounter earlier, but Hermione never really took anything Josie said to heart.

Lawson nodded, picking up the coffee cup on his desk and bringing it to his mouth while simultaneously glancing down at his spotted white tie.

"But - but there haven't been any Death Eater sightings around here since…" Hermione trailed off, knowing what she wanted to say but unable to say it. _Since my parents were killed_ were the words she couldn't speak. _Since I graduated from Hogwarts.__ Since Voldemort was defeated. Since I stopped talking to my two best friends and went off alone in the world._

"I know," Lawson said. "We all know. That's why this is so serious. You can't be slacking off now, Hermione. We think – we're not sure, but it could be possible that they're returning."

"Oh, my God," Hermione uttered. "You can't be serious. Why? They disappeared for six years and now because a shoe store caught on fire, you think they're coming back?"

"_You_ were the one we gave that case to," Lawson reminded her. "We gave you the task of finding out why they fled and why we couldn't find them. But you couldn't solve it." Hermione flinched at the word _couldn't_, and Lawson added slightly more delicately, "No one could."

Hermione began rocking back and forth, trying to pound all this new information into her brain. "So… so you called me in here today to tell me this? Because, honestly, after that Howler, I thought I was going to get f –"

"We're not done," Lawson said crisply, cutting off Hermione's weak attempt at a laugh. "I called you in here today because I'm reassigning you."

"WHAT?" Hermione exclaimed, rising to her feet and nearly knocking her chair over. A large portion of the outside room swiveled around to peer in through the glass windows of the office.

"I said I'm reassigning you, Granger."

_Damn it_, Hermione cursed to herself. _Why did I ever say anything? This is his way of saying I'm getting fired. I knew it._

"But – I didn't – I mean –"

"I'm reassigning you to work at Hogwarts for the remainder of the school year," Lawson said loudly in an effort to override Hermione's incoherent stutters. "You're not loosing your job. You're working undercover. Odd occurrences have been reported at the school lately, concerning some of the students and teachers, and I want _you_ there on the scene to conduct important investigation."

"But – _Hogwarts_?" asked a puzzled Hermione. "What the hell is going on up there?"

"That's your job to find out, now, isn't it?" Lawson said curtly. He gathered a group of parchment rolls in his arms and walked to the front of his office. Hermione, who still hadn't sat back down, followed him as he opened the door and exited the private room. The WIA headquarters was still as busy as an anthill. Vociferous noise met Hermione's ears once again as more sunglasses-clad agents approached her all at once, asking what happened in Lawson's office.

"Wait!" Hermione called after her boss, who was making his way back to the other side of the room. She pushed through the small crowd that was forming around her and stubbornly went after Lawson. "I'm going back to Hogwarts? What, am I just going to supervise the classes?"

A mental image of Hermione tailing Josie all day long with a clipboard sent chills up her spine.

"No," Lawson said. Hermione waited for a more elaborate answer, but when she didn't receive one, she continued to persist.

"Then what will I be doing? How am I going to investigate? Will I have to hold conferences with the students? And where will I be staying? I won't have to travel back and forth from my home to the school every day, will I?"

"You're starting to sound like Hacklebush," Lawson snapped. "Everything has already been arranged and you're due to arrive at Hogwarts next Monday promptly at noon. Any clues or information you obtain during your stay will be mailed to me and only me when appropriate."

The two were nearing the door and Hermione was beginning to grow impatient. Her most important question still hadn't been answered. "Mr. Lawson, you haven't told me what exactly I'll be _doing _at Hogwarts."

Lawson reached for the knob and opened the door, but instead of leaving, he turned around to face Hermione with a calm expression on his face.

"Doing? You'll be teaching, of course. Transfiguration to be exact. They never did find a good teacher after McGonagall was appointed Headmistress. You'll receive an owl tomorrow with more information. Good day, Miss Granger."

And with that, Duke Lawson disappeared behind the door, leaving Hermione completely dazed and confused in a room filled with dozens of people wearing absurd, dark sunglasses.


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Notes:** Wow, so many great reviews! So far, I'm finding that I am not suffering from any form of FFDDD at all. That's good news. I hope I cleared up some issues in my last edition of Author's Notes (sounds like I publish a paper or something) but if anyone still has questions, feel free to voice them – in a REVIEW! And maybe this chapter will explain history between a couple characters a little further. I do believe a bit of the plot is revealed as well.

One of my reviewers said I write very well for my age of twelve. Just to let you know, I'll actually be fourteen in two months. :)

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**CHAPTER THREE – AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR**

The next morning, Hermione awoke in her bed to find sunlight spilling in through the open window. Outside the sounds of horns honking and birds chirping could be heard as the busy Muggle world returned to its regular morning routine. Hermione, however, would not be venturing out of the apartment and down the streets of London today. After being reassigned the day before, she was told that her presence in the WIA headquarters was no longer needed until her career at Hogwarts began.

Still in her pajamas, Hermione slid her feet into her slippers and dragged herself into the kitchen. For once, there were no letters sitting on her kitchen table. It was so perfectly clear that Hermione could see her own reflection in it; an exhausted and befuddled young witch with an awful case of bed head.

She searched for the clicker and turned the television on but really paid no attention to the morning's headlines. Her mind was elsewhere, dwelling on the events and revelations of yesterday's visit to the Ministry.

_I'm going back to Hogwarts_ were the words Hermione kept replaying in her mind. They sent odd chills up her spine… _I'm going back, back to Hogwarts, Hogwarts again_… in all honesty, Hermione didn't _want_ to return to her old school that she hadn't seen for six years. Her life had changed so much for the worse in the last few weeks she had spent there. Loosing both her parents and her friends were memories Hermione had tired to block out and going back would only cause the memories to haunt her again.

_I'll be teaching_, she reminded herself, unsure of what to think about the subject. She would be able to see the school from an entirely different perspective and would relive her childhood days through the eyes of a teacher instead of a student.

Hermione sighed and poured a glass of milk, taking it back to the table. She sat down but didn't touch the glass; instead, she stared at it, thinking deeply about what she would be facing in less than a week's time.

Hogwarts held so many of her memories, both loving and painful. She could vividly recall the night of her arrival at the grand castle for the first time and, even more dramatically, could remember befriending Harry and Ron the day of the troll incident. Those days seemed like ages away, now… eleven years, to be exact.

Other important moments stood out in Hermione's memory – the night Hermione and Harry freed Sirius and Buckbeak, the Yule Ball dance and the ferocious fight with Ron that followed, the Tri-Wizard tournament, Sirius's death, Charlie's death, her parents' death, Voldemort's defeat, her final argument with Ron, and the day she was recruited into the Order of the Phoenix. Everything seemed like a long, giant blur to her now. She found it hard to sort out the memories that _did_ happen from the ones she only dreamt about.

_Suck it up, Granger_, she mentally told herself. _Those days are behind you now. You're expected to arrive at that school ready to teach the students while observing their behaviors at the same time. Too many people are counting on you – don't let them down._

Still, Hermione couldn't shake off the foreboding feeling that had possessed her body when she was told she would be going back to Hogwarts. She had so many worries on her mind and wasn't sure how to go about organizing them. It was times like these when she really needed a Pensieve, she concluded.

While still pondering Lawson's words about the Death Eaters and wondering about the fire, Hermione's largest worry was concerning Harry and Ron. She knew they had gone off to Africa together after they were both recruited into the Ministry. With Harry as an Auror and Ron as a Department of Mysteries head, they were destined to be one of the world's most infamous crime-fighting duos.

Hermione had casually acted indifferent when Harry and Ron left not long after graduation. Uprisings between different wizarding civilizations were causing dangerous disputes in Africa and the two were asked to try to solve the quarrels breaking out all over the country. Really, though, Hermione was alarmed that she would never see her two ex-best friends again. _Don't know why I care so much_, Hermione had thought angrily. _I'm not speaking to them. They're not speaking to me. As far as I'm concerned, they have no influence on my life. I _shouldn't _care this much_. The same ominous thoughts troubled Hermione for many oncoming years. She found that on very mornings like this one, Harry and Ron were the very center of her thoughts.

_I wonder if they miss me_, she found herself thinking. Then she mentally slapped herself for sounding so selfish. They were probably busy, fighting wars in Africa while signing peace treaties at the same time. How could they even spend a minute thinking about her? She hadn't had any contact with them since they left… not that she wanted to, or anything.

Hermione's mind flickered back to the night when she and Ron broke up for the final time. Sighing, she found herself recollecting the memories of their blissful times together.

_[FLASHBACK]_

_The hour was late. Hermione and Ron were the only two left in the Gryffindor common room. Harry had gone to bed hours ago, saying he didn't feel well. The following day would bring three exams for the exhausted sixth years. Last minute studying was better than not studying at all, Hermione reminded Ron countless times._

_Tension had been growing between the two in the last few months. Since Harry was usually somewhere off with his newly found girlfriend (a fellow sixth year in Ravenclaw; Harry had been persuaded by Hermione to try and let some love in his life to ease his grief), Ron and Hermione found themselves spending more time together. Most recently they could be found walking to class with one another, and quite often too. Of course, people as arrogant as Malfoy always took these moments and morphed them into awful, embarrassing scenes in the middle of the Hogwarts hallways. One Friday afternoon even ended with Ron and Malfoy both in the Hospital Wing with bloody noses and a week's worth of detentions._

_Ron was sitting with his feet up on a paper-strewn desk, lazily waving his wand while trying to attempt a complicated spell for Charms class. He'd been working on it for months and still couldn't perfect the proper hand movements. Hermione sat at the other end, glancing up every few seconds with a tiny, almost inconspicuous smirk on her face._

_"Damn it all to hell!" he yelled loudly, slamming his hands on the desk and throwing his wand across the room. Hermione's quill stopped moving back and forth and her eyes shifted from her notes to Ron's distressed face._

_"I'm going to fail those bloody exams tomorrow," Ron muttered more to himself than to his companion. "Waste of time if you ask me. Can't get anything right…"_

_He seized the closest piece of paper and began ripping it into tiny shreds._

_Hermione sighed and took out her own wand. Muttering a short spell brought Ron's wand sailing back across the room, landing in front of his mounting pile of torn paper. While Hermione was stressing on the inside about exams and collected on the outside, it appeared as if Ron was having a breakdown all at once._

_"Here," Hermione said calmly, forcing Ron's wand back into his hand. "Let me help."_

_"I don't need your help," Ron muttered, trying to push her away. But Hermione held onto his hand strongly, meaningfully looking into his eyes and letting him know she was there for him. The two gazed at each other several more seconds than actually necessary; their gaze was broken when Hermione cleared her throat and raised Ron's hand._

_"Like this," she muttered into his ear. She made a perfect arch in the air, poked the wand forward and brought it back through smoothly. Ron grimaced, telling himself Hermione was only making it look easy._

_"Now you try."_

_Hermione's hand left Ron's as he awkwardly gripped the wand alone, trying to imitate the hand movements Hermione had made in the air. They were rather sloppy and not quite accurate, but he seemed satisfied enough._

_"There, see?" Hermione said, beaming. "You can do it, and you'll do fine on tomorrow's exam. Trust me."_

_Ron stared at her long and hard before murmuring, "I trust you." There was silence between the two for an uncomfortably extended time. Then, without warning, the wand slipped from Ron's hand and fell to the table, letting off a boisterous BANG in Hermione's face. Ron flipped backwards off his chair and toppled to the ground._

_"Are you all right?" Hermione exclaimed, coughing from the smoke that had emitted out of the wand's end. "Ron? Are you okay?" She rounded the table and kneeled next to Ron, who was lying on the floor, looking quite taken aback._

_"Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine," he said rapidly, waving the smoke away from his face. "What about you? I let that thing off in your face. I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"_

_"No," Hermione said, pushing her hair behind her ears and studying Ron's face. "No, it's… I'm… I'm okay. I just hope no one heard that, since it's…" She trailed off to look at her watch and could hardly believe the numbers she was seeing on the tiny screen. "Two in the morning? Ron, we should get rest if we want to do well on tomorrow's tests."_

_"No!" Ron said hurriedly, rising. "I mean – well, I'm not very tired. I have more work to do."_

_Another discomfited silence followed his statement in which Ron studied the legs of the table and Hermione became rather interested in a loose string on the carpet._

_"Do you want me to stay?" Hermione asked, breaking the stillness of the room._

_"Only if you want to."___

_"I want to."_

_Suddenly, the two found themselves curiously close together. Ron's face was but a mere three inches from Hermione's. While usually either one of them would brush the situation off by dubbing it "disturbing" and an "accident that would never happen again", they actually did not seem to mind their proximity._

_"Hermione?"__ Ron asked timidly without breaking visual contact with her._

_"Yes?"_

_"You have the two most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."_

_And after that, Ron and Hermione let nature take its course. Needless to say, within the next ten hours, the entire school knew of the couple's pairing. It was a legendary moment in the history of Hogwarts._

_Unfortunately, it would only last a year._

Just moments after Hermione's flashback ended, the doorbell to her apartment rang. Hermione glanced down at her pale bathrobe and wondered what in the world her hair looked like. She really was in to state to answer the door, but the unexpected visitor on the other side persisted in ringing the doorbell.

"I'm coming!" Hermione yelled, grabbing a hair tie and pulling her hair back quickly. When she reached the door, she caught a glimpse of her not-so-appealing reflection in a nearby mirror and scowled.

She pulled open the door to find none other than Ginny Weasley standing in the hall, bearing a large grin.  As shocked as she was to find that her old friend had shown up for an unforeseen visit, Hermione embraced Ginny like her own sister.

"Ginny – what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, still standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry, come in, come in… I'll put on some coffee."

"Oh, no," Ginny said. "Tea, please."

The two entered Hermione's tidy apartment (_thank God I cleaned last weekend_, Hermione thought) as the hostess rushed to put on a pot of tea. Ginny hadn't yet seen the interior of Hermione's newly bought residence and was quite impressed with what she saw.

"Your apartment is beautiful, Hermione," Ginny commented while examining the velour drapes in the living room. "I suppose your income from being an agent for the Ministry is quite satisfying."

"Please, you didn't come to talk about finance," Hermione said, rushing around the kitchen looking for eggs and bread. "Have you had breakfast? No matter, I'll make you some anyway."

Ginny chuckled at watching her friend zoom around the kitchen. She took a seat in one of the chairs at the table and continued to gaze at the designs on the walls.

"I heard you're coming back to Hogwarts."

Hermione accidentally cracked an egg on the floor instead of into the frying pan. "How did you find out?"

Ginny giggled like a small child. "You don't have to be so secretive about it. We're all really excited you'll be on the staff. I heard it from Bella Levrero… you know, that new Italian who's teaching Divination. She does something at the Ministry, but I'm not quite sure."

"Is she a member of the Wizengamot?" Hermione asked. "Her name sounds oddly familiar."

Shrugging, Ginny picked up the Muggle telephone sitting next to her and began fiddling with the buttons. "We'll be working side by side, Hermione. Don't you think that's exciting? Me teaching Muggle Studies, you teaching Transfiguration. You'll love it, honestly. I've been there ever since I got out as a student and it's really amazing going back as a teacher."

Hermione made an odd choking noise that she quickly disguised into a cough.

"What?" Ginny quickly asked defensively. "You don't want to teach?"

"_No_," Hermione said forcefully while placing two pieces of bread into the toaster. Ginny watched in fascination; even though she was a Muggle Studies teacher, the Muggle ways of life still mesmerized her. "I would really rather not, if it was up to me. But, apparently, it isn't. I think Duke Lawson will fire me if I refuse. 

"Dunno why you're dreading it," Ginny said airily. "It'll give you a break from the office. You'll constantly be on the scene, working as a lone detective, discovering clues with every step y –"

"Ginny," Hermione warned. "I'll knock you out with this frying pan if you don't shut up."

An angry stranger was yelling through the telephone Ginny had been pressing random buttons on, ranting about prank calling so early in the morning. Ginny slammed the receiver down and stared at it, clearly horrified. Hermione, luckily, still had her back turned.

"Come on, Hermione, what's wrong? Why don't you want to come to Hogwarts?"

Contemplating her answer, Hermione didn't speak automatically. She sighed, bringing over a plate of fried eggs and toast to Ginny, before opening her mouth.

"Being at Hogwarts again will bring back so many reminiscences, Ginny," she said sensitively while taking a seat next to her friend. "I spent the most important years of my life there and it holds more memories than my old home –"

Hermione felt a wave of tears coming on but stopped herself before it was too late. Speaking of her house and parents often slipped out, and when it did, she could hardly control the feelings that slipped out, too.

Ginny watched in concerned apprehension as Hermione began to speak again, more softly than before. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this… not just the teaching thing, but facing my past. The last time I saw the school, my parents were recently dead and my best friends were pretending I didn't exist. Do you think it will be _easy_ for me to cope with the emotions that will come along with this?"

"I'm sorry," Ginny apologized. "I didn't know – I had no idea. But you need to get over what's happened and move on. A lot of good can come out of teaching at Hogwarts, you know. And remember, your main priority is to solve the case of what's affecting our students."

Hermione's mind mechanically snapped from one problem to the next. Thoughts of Hogwarts were promptly replaced with thoughts of the more important dilemma at hand.

"Ginny," Hermione said sternly. "I want you to tell me exactly what's going on."

A shadow of uneasiness covered Ginny's face. "It's odd," she murmured. "The other teachers and I noticed changes in the behavior of the students shortly after term started. It's hard to explain, but…"

"Just try, please. I really need to know."

"I'll use the Halloween feast last week as an example. It had been an uneventful evening until Maggie Jones, one of my own fourth years, levitated a dozen knives over the poor Astronomy professor's head before letting them drop. Luckily, he ducked under the table before they hit his chair. Poor bloke fainted and was out cold in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the night."

"My God, you're kidding," Hermione said with an open mouth. "What possessed her to do something like that?"

Ginny shrugged. "No one knows. Maggie kept claiming afterwards that it wasn't her fault and _she_, whoever she was referring to, made her do it. I didn't have a clue what she was talking about, and she appeared to be delirious, so she was shipped off to St. Mungo's straight away. We haven't seen her since."

"Sounds like she was rather a nut case."

"It's been worse," Ginny continued mysteriously. "Students have been caught roaming the halls hours after curfew, saying they didn't know the way back to their common rooms. Last month, a Hufflepuff first year snuck down to the kitchens, dragged a house elf back to his house and held it hostage in his dorm for a week."

"A week? How's that possible?"

"It was really eerie," Ginny said, shuddering. "The first year put charms and spells on his door that were clearly out of his field of knowledge. Even our most trained spell-breakers couldn't get into the dorm. We had almost given up hope until he walked out a week later, looking dazed and asking why a crowd of people were waiting for him behind the door."

By the end of Ginny's tales, Hermione too had chills running up her spine. She had never heard of such abnormal happenings to occur at Hogwarts. And it appeared that after each incident, the student awoke from a trance with no memory of their actions.

"Ginny, I had no idea it –"

Hermione was cut short by the arrival of another unanticipated guest. An owl fluttered in through the window Hermione had left open by habit. It deposited a letter near the sink, pecked around the counters for a few minutes, then abruptly became bored and departed.

Hermione glanced at Ginny before moving to snatch the envelope. She recognized it as a letter from Hogwarts and brought it back to the table to open. She pulled out a paper and read its contents aloud.

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_We at Hogwarts are pleased to welcome you back as a member of our staff for the remainder of the term. As you know, you will be filling the position as Transfiguration professor while conducting important examinations concerning the performance of our students._

_Your fellow associates in investigation will be arriving in oncoming weeks. You will be notified of their arrival and will be called to a conference when convenient._

_Thank you for your time, and we will see you on Monday at __noon__ sharp._

_Sincerely,_

_MINERVA MCGONAGALL  
HOGWARTS HEADMISTRESS_

A silence followed Hermione's reading of McGonagall's letter. Both Ginny and Hermione stared at it, re-reading certain lines in hopes to decipher their meanings more clearly.

"What does she mean by 'your fellow associates'? Lawson never mentioned that I would be working with someone else."

"I don't know," Ginny said, raising her eyebrows. "We held a meeting in the staff room about this a few days ago and McGonagall didn't say anything about anyone except you."

"Well," Hermione said while taking a deep breath and rolling up the parchment, "I suppose I'll find out on Monday, won't I? Hogwarts, here I come."


	5. Back to Hogwarts

**Author's Notes:** I am sad to say that I did indeed suffer FFDDD. Between school finals, hanging out with friends, and going to the pool, I have not had the time to write. And my computer has just suddenly developed this obsession with completely shutting down when I'm in the middle of typing my chapters. I apologize. The chapters may come a bit slowly now, but if I can recover from not writing for two months, I think this story will be continued. =)

And if anyone thinks the flashback in this chapter is a bit… weird… well, so do I, but once I started writing it I didn't want to stop. The main idea is to give the reader the idea that in the last years at Hogwarts, Hermione faced many difficult challenges and losses, and that's a reason why she's so reluctant to return.

As always, reviews are welcome.

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**CHAPTER FOUR – BACK TO HOGWARTS**  
By early Monday morning, Hermione had stuffed several Muggle suitcases with items and possessions that would accompany her to Hogwarts. She walked around her beloved apartment for the final time, having just realized she would be boarding at Hogwarts and would not return home for many long months.****

In less than an hour's time, Hermione would Apparate to a designated place at Hogsmeade station and would travel up to the school, just like her school days. Instead of anticipating the new experience, she was absolutely dreading it. While she was eager to assist the Ministry in a pretty impressive mission, Hermione was already missing her previous job. She missed the traffic every morning; the commotion at the Ministry; the hectic office hours; and, possibly, she even missed her boss.

_That may be taking it a bit too far_, she consciously told herself.

But Hermione still could not decipher the meaning behind McGonagall's words of "your fellow associates" from the letter. She honestly did not want to work alongside someone else. She had never had a partner before and wasn't quite sure how it would work out. What if they got all the credit for solving the case and Hermione was pushed into obscurity? What if they won the Most Valuable Witch award instead, breaking her three-year going on four-year record? What if they were a secret Death Eater, bent on world domination, with an undisclosed plan to assassinate Hermione in the middle of the night?

_I've been watching far too many murder mysteries on the telly._

She checked her watch and realized with a small pang of apprehension that it was five till noon. After running her hand lovingly along her spotless kitchen table and taking in the trimness of her adored home one last time, Hermione took a deep breath, clutched onto her suitcases and bags tightly, and took out her wand.

A few seconds later, all that was left in the Granger apartment was several rooms filled with chairs, tables, and many random entertainment pleasures.

Crisp November air met Hermione's flesh upon arriving at her designated Apparation point. The remote roar of waves rolling across the Hogwarts lake could be heard in the distance as a fresh smell of youth reminisces tingled Hermione's appropriately chilled nose. For a moment, she felt like a small child again, just arriving at Hogsmeade Station, ready to begin another school year and not knowing what adventures awaited her.

Hermione took a couple steps and found herself standing on the very same platform the Hogwarts Express pulled in at every year – only this time, there wasn't a train on the tracks alongside her. The space next to her that was usually filled with a bright crimson train was completely empty. It was hard to keep mentally reminding herself her duty at Hogwarts had changed and was different this year.

Still grasping her luggage firmly, Hermione began the long walk up to Hogwarts. The grass was neatly cut, as always, and as green as ever. The looming castle that grew closer every second seemed as if it was watching Hermione's every move and awaiting her to enter through the main doors. Taking her eyes off the majestic building ahead of her, she gazed down at the shimmering surface of the lake below and shivered at the memories that resurfaced in her mind.

_[FLASHBACK]_

_The door to Hermione's dorm opened, its opener to find Hermione lying on her four-poster with her eyes fixated on the less-than-interesting ceiling. The blood-red sun that was descending behind the hills in the distance cast an ominous glow through the windows and around the room. Small sighs emitted at regular intervals from the still figure on the bed but no other sound was to be heard._

_"Hey."_

_Hermione made no intention to reply._

_Her guest slumped against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest, a conspicuous smirk working its way across his mouth. "You can't hide in here forever, you know."_

_Hermione blinked once, not taking her eyes off the ceiling. Her words were soft and distant, but she spoke nonetheless. "Go away, Ron."_

_Still smirking knowingly, Ron made his way across the room to Hermione's bed, the floorboards creaking with each step he took. Hermione turned over on her side to avoid looking at him, as little good as it did. He plopped down on the squishy four-poster aside her, hesitating in what to do._

_"I know something's up. Parvati came storming into the common room, shouting about you being a stubborn prat and not ever wanting to accept the truth or something like that. I never listen to what comes out of that girl's mouth; she could have been quoting Shakespeare for all I know. It's all rubbish anyway."_

_Ron's attempt at cheering Hermione up faded away quickly. The morose seventh year was indeed stubborn, and Ron began to grow irritated in seeing his kindness have no effect at all._

_"Hermione," he said, adding a touch of seriousness to his voice. He poked her arm sharply but she shook him off without as much as a single word. "Hermione, talk to me. You can't avoid me, too. Tell me what's up."_

_When Ron's words still ceased to influence Hermione to talk, he sighed and pushed his arm behind her back and brought her unwilling body up into his arms. She drooped awkwardly for a moment before giving in and wrapping her arms around Ron's neck closely._

_"We had a fight," Hermione muttered into Ron's sweater. She drew back and furrowed her brow, recollecting the words that had been said. A concerned look suddenly clouded Ron's face as he drew Hermione closer to him._

_"What about?" he asked gently.___

_Hermione faltered for a moment before looking away from Ron's face to stare out the window again. "About you," she whispered._

_"Me?"_

_"I don't want to tell you," Hermione murmured, trying to avoid Ron's gaze again. Ron, though, took her hands in his and turned her to face him._

_"If something's troubling you, I want you to tell me."_

_Hermione was silent a minute before continuing with her story. "Parvati doesn't think you're good enough for me. She was… insulting you, and your family, and saying…" She trailed off to stare out the window again, her face tinted by crimson light. Ron remained silent, his face expressionless, waiting for her to break out of her trance._

_"So I slapped her… and told her you're better than anyone she would ever find. I think she's still sore at you for dumping her last year. But then she changed her mind and said I didn't deserve you, or anyone, and then she marched out of the room and slammed the door. Now she's probably down there, telling everyone what we said…"_

_"Forget her," Ron muttered more to himself than to Hermione after a moment's uncomfortable silence. "I dumped her for a reason. She's just a –"_

_"Before she left, the last thing I said to her was that she was a wicked git who deserved whatever misfortune came her way," Hermione continued on as if not hearing Ron. Her eyes were misty and unfocused and still staring out the window at the glittery depths of the sunset-bathed lake. "And she just glared at me and said nothing. But now I feel guilty… I shouldn't have said that, Ron, because she took it to heart and I didn't really mean it. She had that 'no one loves me' look on her face again. The last time she thought the world hated her, she tried to suffocate herself in a broom closet, remember?"_

_Ron stared down at Hermione and pushed a stray piece of frazzled hair behind her ear. He then pulled her even closer into a tight hug and murmured in her ear, "She'll be okay. Parvati may be a bit of a nutcase, but she's smart enough not to do anything drastic. She knows you weren't serious."_

_The sun was at its peak now, completely immersing the front lawns of Hogwarts in a menacing shade of red. Hermione had to shield her eyes from the sharp sunlight pouring into the room. She sniffled, still clinging to Ron, and turned her eyes to gaze out the window one last time._

_"Ron? What's that by the lake?" she asked, pointing to a silhouette on the grounds._

_Detaching himself from Hermione, Ron moved towards the window to get a better view. He realized there _was_ something down by the lake, and it was dangerously close to the edge, too._

_"I think it's a person," Ron commented. "Can't make out who, though."_

_He glanced back and found Hermione's face had gone completely white. "Hermione?"_

_"Oh, my god," were the only words she said before sprinting from the dorm and down the spiraling staircase to the common room. Harry was sitting at a table playing Exploding Snap with Dean and Neville while Ginny watched. They all looked up at Hermione curiously as she whizzed by, followed closely by Ron._

_Disregarding anyone she met in the hallways, Hermione hurried through the corridors of Hogwarts and threw open the main doors. She raced against the setting sun to the lake, praying against all hope that she would still be there…_

_The sun seemed a mere second away from vanishing behind the horizon as Hermione stumbled down the sloping lawns, panting heavily and nearing the shores. She searched wildly for any movement along the banks, but the sun was at an unbearably blinding point and nothing could be seen. She heard Ron huffing behind her but payed no attention. Her mind was set on getting to the lake before it was too late._

_The lapping waves were less than ten feet from Hermione when she stopped and looked. There were no other figures surrounding the lake, none at all. For a moment, her stomach lurched as the worst case scenario came to mind, but then a small noise some forty feet in the air caused her to look up. A girl was unsteadily hovering above the water on a broomstick; obviously, she did not see Hermione. Multiple footsteps drew closer but they were unnoticed. Hermione's full attention was on the situation at hand._

_"Please, don't," she murmured to herself, as if it would make a difference. "No, don't… don't…"_

_Without warning, the figure on the broomstick (who appeared to be someone Hermione's age still dressed in her black robes) made an odd squealing noise before deliberately dropping off the broomstick, only to plummet the full drop into the penetratingly icy waters below. Hermione screamed aloud but it could help none; a small splash was all there was before the figure, otherwise known as Parvati Patil, disappeared forever into the mysterious pits of Hogwarts lake._

_Stunned and mortified, Hermione felt hot tears running down her cheeks. The broomstick hovered in the air a few more seconds before gracefully drifting to the opposite bank, but she paid no attention to it. Beginning to sob more heavily, the hard truth suddenly hit her forcefully as the scene she had just witnessed replayed over and over in her mind._

_The footsteps finally caught up with her and several people came to a screeching halt, all breathing with difficulty. It was clear everyone wanted to say something but nobody could voice the words exactly._

_"Hermione…" Ron tried, taking her hand in his. She pushed him away, her eyes still glued to the absolutely still lake. She had just seen one of her very close acquaintances – as much as she had hated Parvati at times – go the limit and actually _kill_ herself; nothing anyone could say would comfort her. True, they all knew Parvati had morphed into a senseless and irrational person after her parents divorced, her brother was killed, and she broke up with Ron. No one, however, expected the unthinkable to happen._

_"Get Dumbledore," Hermione heard a low voice mutter to her left. She recognized it immediately as Harry's. "Quick – someone get him."_

_The wind picked up, blowing leaves from nearby bushes onto Hermione's feet. The world seemed no different. The flowers were still blooming, the birds were still crying, and somewhere, a family was still living their lives not knowing a person dear to them had made such an illogical decision that literally cost them their existence._

_Time crawled by slowly as Hermione stood at the edge of the lake, staring aimlessly across, still in shock. In the distance, a door shut loudly, and several more figures moved across the darkening lawns of Hogwarts. And then it all came crashing down on her._

_Parvati killed herself because of what Hermione said to her, making it Hermione's fault. It was as if she had committed a murder. The way she looked at it, she had just forced someone to take their own life. She was guilty. She killed Parvati._

_"Hermione?"___

_"I killed her."_

_The following minutes were a blur to Hermione; teachers from the school stumbling past Hermione, Ministry officials Apparating in and out of the scene, curious students sneaking down from the school to see. And when the truth was announced aloud, fits of crying broke out and students became hysterical._

_"Miss Granger?" said a voice from behind Hermione at the same time a hand tapped her on the shoulder. She averted her eyes to the side to see McGonagall peering down at her. She gulped, and her heart sped up. _Are they going to accuse me of her death? _she thought, panicking._

_"Miss Granger, would you care to attend to my office for a chat? I believe there are some things we need to speak of."_

_Hermione began nodding her head and slowly turned around, ready to confess all. But McGonagall continued speaking, placing her hand to rest on Hermione's shoulder._

_"Not tonight," she said softly. "You look something awful; your face is chalk white." She glanced around the hectic scene behind them. "I do think you've gone through enough for one evening. Madam Pomfrey will be waiting for you in the hospital wing; go see her for a dreamless tonic and I will come see you in the morning. Everything's going to be okay," she added, noticing Hermione's distressed expression. "Mr. Weasley will escort you back to the school."_

_Thousands of different thoughts ran through Hermione's head as she exited the wild panorama. Ron walked alongside her back up the now black lawns, not daring to say a word. She barely even noticed when he took her hand halfway through the walk. Tears still silently trickled down her face as she repeated in her mind the only clear fact she could focus on: _I am a murderer.

_[END FLASHBACK]_

Reminding herself of that awful, dreadful day brought a feeling of nausea to Hermione's stomach. She looked down again and realized the lake was farther away and, looking forward, that the doors of Hogwarts were directly in front of her face. She hadn't even realized it; the walk to Hogwarts was quicker than she remembered. Clearing her mind of all the foreboding thoughts she had kept in her head until this moment, Hermione pushed open the doors to Hogwarts one more time.

They made a squeaky noise, and Hermione thought that surely someone would have heard it. The Entrance Hall, looking exactly the same as Hermione remembered it, was empty. She honestly expected McGonagall, or someone, to meet her, as she was not entirely sure where she was supposed to head. The place was perfectly silent; not a sound was to be heard anywhere. She checked her watch; it was now nearly ten past noon, several minutes more than she was told to arrive at. _Why should it matter that I'm late? It's not like I have a welcome committee here to greet me_, she reasoned.

Hermione decided to poke her head in through the Great Hall doors, seeing as they were ajar, anyway. She dropped her bags and discreetly pushed on the wood, peering inside. Even though it was lunch time, she had expected more students to be seated at the tables; in all, there was probably a total of twelve. She was unaware of the curious stares she was getting from the nearest three as she stared in awe at the room before her; it hadn't changed a bit in all the years since she last saw it and was still as magnificent as ever. Of course, it held as many memories as anything in Hogwarts did, but Hermione pushed them away before another flashback came on.

She didn't notice the smallest of the children staring waving at her until he said, "Excuse me, miss. Are you looking for something?"

"Oh… where is everyone?" Hermione asked him.

"Hogsmeade," he said with a sad sigh. "It was canceled this weekend and moved to today."

"Why didn't you go?"

"I'm just a first year," the child said dejectedly. "First years aren't allowed the privilege of going to Hogsmeade. Didn't you know that?"

"No… I knew," Hermione replied absentmindedly. She thanked the child for his time and closed the doors of the Great Hall, resting her hand on them for a moment. Then a familiar, sharp voice from behind snapped her back, making her jump.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Miss Granger."

Hermione turned to find Professor McGonagall watching her curiously with a hint of a smile on her lips. Hermione couldn't help but smile back at the woman who, for many years, she had looked up to as a role model. Now, as strange as it sounded, she was no longer her mentor but now her fellow co-worker.

"Hello, Professor."

"Please, call me Minerva now," McGonagall said airily, "since you too are now on the staff. And follow me; we've been waiting for you."

Hermione followed the woman who she could never come to call by her first name down the so well-known halls of Hogwarts. Halfway through the trip, she realized she was being taken to Dumbledore's old office, which, she reminded herself, was no longer Dumbledore's but now McGonagall's own.

"Unfortunately, your associates have not arrived yet," she told Hermione as they were passing by a portrait of an iron-clad maiden. "As well as I know them, I should not be surprised, but perhaps they've turned up in my office since I left…"

She had used the word 'associates' again. Quite curious as to whom McGonagall was referring to and why exactly she _needed_ associates, Hermione was about to ask the question that had been bothering her for nearly a week. But the two had arrived in front of the gargoyle leading to the office of the Headmaster – or Headmistress. McGonagall muttered the password ("whiskers") and soon they were traveling up the spiraling staircase. Hermione was pleased to see McGonagall had kept the same style of decorating; many of Dumbledore's old gadgets and odd paintings were still displayed.

Distant voices were heard inside the office, but they were unable to be translated. McGonagall chuckled slightly and mumbled to herself, "Ah, yes, I _do_ believe they've arrived," before reaching for the door handle.

Pulling her eyes from the portraits lining the walls, Hermione opened to her mouth and began to form a sentence. "Excuse me, but who exactly will I be working with –" She was cut off when the door opened and McGonagall stepped through, allowing Hermione to follow.

Inside, muttering to each other with amused looks on their faces, were the two people Hermione had least expected to see. And, she found herself admitting, the two people she least _wanted_ to see.

Their conversations ceased quickly as the three former friends stared at one another, utterly bewildered, before all shouting aloud, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, dear," McGonagall said sorrowfully. "This is not the way I expected things to turn out."


	6. Meeting the Associates

**Author's Notes:** I do believe FFDDD has officially been conquered. =) That's all I have to say.

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**CHAPTER FIVE – MEETING THE ASSOCIATES**

"Bloody hell," Ron said, staring at Hermione with widening eyes. Either he was shocked by her difference in appearance or shocked that she was indeed still living, she was disgusted each way.

Six years had only changed Hermione's former friends slightly. Ron's mouth still hung open in his I-have-no-clue-what's-going-on way that Hermione had grown accustomed to while his fiery red hair and prominent freckles still gave him his signature look. Harry, on the other hand, looked more like his father than ever (even though Hermione had only seen pictures of the man on a few occasions) with his mother's emerald green eyes sparkling behind his black-rimmed glasses. For a moment, Hermione felt like a child again at Hogwarts, gaping back at the two people she had shared half her life with, until the detestable memories and feelings caught up with her.

"_They're_ my associates?" Hermione asked McGonagall incredulously, who was standing awkwardly off to the side. McGonagall opened her mouth several times and raised her eyebrows, but then gave up and just nodded her head. "Great," she muttered, unable to believe that of all the people in the world who could have been her mysterious 'associates', these two idiots were the ones chosen.

"What are you _doing _here?" Ron asked again. He glanced at Harry for help, but Harry just glared at Hermione with a vengeful hatred in his eyes.

Many years later and still able to snap back at Ron, Hermione answered curtly, "I'm solving a _very_ important mission for the Ministry of Magic, since I'm one of their _top spies_, of course. And naturally, I'm not going to let any_one_ get in my way."

Ron stared at her like she was a cockroach with twenty legs before he responded. "What do you mean, you're solving this mission? Harry and I were told to come back to help the Ministry, and then _you_ show up? We aren't working with anyone else, and least of all you!"

"Just because there's been a mix-up and you're back in my life for _one day_ doesn't mean you have the right to control me again," Hermione shot back, her voice rising and heat coming to her face. It was just like their schooldays again, she thought, when she and Ron would get into a blazing row over something incredibly stupid every ten minutes. Only this time, she would not let him win her over.

"I honestly can't believe the Ministry hired you to do their work," Ron spat, changing tactics. Hermione merely scoffed at hearing such a thick remark. It was clear he was out of invectives.

"What were they thinking when they hired _you_? You both are the most incapable, irresponsible, immature, unorganized, brainless prats I've ever –"

"ENOUGH!"

Ron and Hermione's quarrel was put to an end by McGonagall's loud bark. She eyed the two of them carefully, her sharp frown never ceasing to impress them. "Need I remind the two of you that you are no longer stuck in the days of your childhood squabbles?" she said. "You are both fully grown adults and should handle this situation, whatever it is, sensibly."

They both cast their eyes down toward the floor to avoid one another's gaze. Hermione's face was burning with loathing and embarrassment. She couldn't loose the composure she had built up over the years to Ron in just one minute. And, most importantly, she couldn't let him think she was vulnerable.

"Professor," said a stiff voice that had been silent throughout the small argument. "I believe I speak on behalf of both Ron and me when I say we absolutely refuse to work with her."

Hermione had never seen Harry's eyes blazing with so much anger before, except for when he was facing off to Malfoy. It hurt her inside to see such a close former friend hate her so much now. But then she thought of _why_ he was so angry with her, and _why_ she was so angry with him, and her sentimental feelings were forgotten.

"Excuse me?" McGonagall asked, still slightly flabbergasted. "I don't believe I asked whether or not you wanted to work with Miss Granger, Potter. And while I am obviously unaware of the conflict you three are facing, I expect you to realize that it _will not_ come in the way of your duty. You are here for one purpose solely. I ask you keep that in mind."

The three nodded their heads slowly, Harry the most reluctant, all studying the shiny floor quite intensely. Hermione had wished she never came; she didn't want to return to Hogwarts in the first place, but now that the two people who had caused so much pain and suffering in her life would be working along with her, all she really wanted to do was run back to her safe, peaceful home, and dive under her bed.

"Hermione," McGonagall said abruptly, startling Hermione slightly. "You will be rooming in your own private dormitory, located up the stairs and to the right in the staff room, seeing as you will be working on the staff this year." Hermione could've sworn Ron rolled his eyes, but McGonagall continued. "Potter and Weasley, we've made up a dormitory for the two of you to share five doors down. I trust you are all competent enough to not get lost? Good. Tomorrow, you may come down to breakfast, and after, we will have a conference in my office about your duties here this year. Hermione, it is expected that you will begin your teaching Wednesday."

Hermione nodded professionally, trying not to notice Ron still rolling his eyes around his head. She secretly wished his eyeballs would fall out. She also yearned to ask McGonagall what Harry and Ron would be _doing_, exactly, if they weren't teaching (and good thing, too – honestly, those two being professors? What would the world be coming to?), but the last thing she wanted to do was let on that she was concerned about them in the least; which she wasn't, of course.

"Now, if you'll follow me, I'll escort you to the staff room, so you will be familiar with the way. The rest of the day is your's to do whatever you please."

Pushing past Harry and Ron to follow behind McGonagall, Hermione was quite relieved that she wouldn't be forced to spend the rest of the day in the company of the two people she could barely stand to be in the same room with.

Harry and Ron trailed a good ten feet behind Hermione and McGonagall, whispering secretly (Hermione could only guess what about). She hardly payed attention to the route they were taking, but she was sure she could manage to find the staff room again; instead, Hermione was lost in thought about the morning's revelations thus far.

So she was back at Hogwarts – which wasn't so terribly awful. But she was back with Harry and Ron. And the last time she had been at the school with them, they got into a fight and vowed to never talk to one another again. As much as Hermione wouldn't admit it, she really lost a piece of herself the day her friends walked away.

The only thing she didn't understand was why Harry and Ron were such good buddies again. If she recalled correctly, Harry was as angry with Ron as he was with her for not supporting him during the infamous fight against Voldemort. Thinking about the situation only intensified her irritation – of course Harry and Ron would make up and plot against her together. Had she not learned anything over the years? Boys would be boys – immature little prats with no loyalty.

Hermione had tried so hard the past six years to cleanse her mind of her old, painful memories; not speaking to her ex-best friends helped greatly. She had forgotten everything, good memories and bad, significant memories and meaningless ones. She forgot the fights with Ron, the visits to Hogsmeade, the adventures, the encounters with Voldemort, the talks with Ginny, the chess games she played (and lost). But now everything came back – it was like history was repeating itself.

Glancing behind her, she saw Ron and Harry deep in conversation, Ron shooting her furtive glares every now and then. Hermione turned around and held her head high, trying to not let it bother her. She also realized that the four of them had arrived in front of a large oak door, which obviously led into the staff room.

She followed McGonagall over the threshold into a professor-empty circular room. It had been reupholstered since Hermione last saw it; comfortable looking couches were arranged throughout the hospitable room and a fire was burning in the grate. In the corner stood a table of snacks and a machine that evidently served both coffee and butterbeer. Hermione found her eyes trailing over to Ron once more; he was looking at the snacks table with a hungry passion. She scoffed aloud, causing him to glare at her, but she only raised her eyebrows before following McGonagall up a spiraling staircase that led to the dorms.

The long, narrow hallway was made of stone, and the wooden floorboards beneath Hermione creaked when she stepped across them. Innumerable doors lined the walls, each leading to a different dorm. McGonagall pointed Hermione towards hers and the boys towards theirs; they all departed, Hermione thanking McGonagall for her time, without so much as a word to each other.

Hermione pushed open the door to her room, finding the sight quite breathtaking. Her dorm did not resemble her old student one in the least; this room was very warm and inviting, with a magnificent dark cherry oak dresser against one wall and a gigantic canopied four-poster against another. She was pleased to see that her luggage had already been brought up and laid neatly on top of her bed. A bookcase stood near the window, and upon further investigation, Hermione found many of the titles referred to Transfiguration – the class she would be teaching. Looking out the window, she saw she had a beautiful view of the lake and part of the forest, and far away in the distance was Hagrid's hut. Hermione sighed and crawled up onto the window pane like she used to do in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep; smoke emitted from the tiny cabin, and she had a crazy urge to run down there now and spill everything out to her long-time friend. She knew Hagrid had returned this year to teach Care of Magical Creatures for one last time before completely devoting his life's work to the Order. She wasn't sure what a difference it made with him being in the same school as her, but it did give Hermione and odd feeling of protection knowing Hagrid would be there, no matter what.

After gazing awestruck at the books organized efficiently on the shelf and fixing her hair slightly, she ventured out into the hallway, wondering how she should spend the rest of her afternoon. She wasn't sure what parts of the school were open to her and which ones weren't; of course, that never stopped her from exploring whatever she liked in her schooldays.

Hermione walked down the hall and began to descend down the stone steps, but stopped suddenly when she heard a door open, allowing voices to drift down to where she stood, concealed. She knew she could keep walking, because the voices speaking were ones that could only hurt her, but something told her to stop and listen.

"… think they're doing, setting us up like that," Ron was practically yelling at Harry. He seemed heated about something, and Hermione was quite sure she knew what about.

"It's not their fault, Ron," Harry replied, seemingly calmer than his livid friend. "They didn't know that we – weren't on speaking terms. Logically, they would set us to work together. After all, we're a famous duo, and she's a respected spy for the WIA. I heard she won Most Valuable Witch three years in a row."

"Doesn't surprise me," Ron muttered. Hermione had a notion to walk up the stairs and sock him in the face, but it passed quickly.

"We can't let her get in the way, okay? It's been six years, but you know what she'll do – try to boss us into doing what _she_ thinks is best. She'll screw everything up, like always."

"They never did tell us what exactly we're supposed to be doing," Ron mused, his rage leaving him for a moment. "We're not teaching classes, like _she_ is – God help her poor students – so why are we here?"

"Something's wrong with the kids," Harry said, frowning. "They're been acting funny, and McGonagall's letter said it didn't seem like they were just pulling pranks."

"So what," said an indifferent Ron. "Maybe the house-elves are spiking their drinks. That's not our problem."

"Come on, Ron. This could be serious. I heard that last week, a student tried to suffocate Filch's cat with a pillowcase – doesn't surprise me, I wanted to do that loads of times. And this is a big case. We're not going to let _her _solve it before we do, right?"

Hermione was growing irked. She hated the way they constantly referred to her as _she_ and _her_ – she did have a name. It was like their lips were too sacred to be graced with the filth of her name. Perhaps if she just popped into their room for a moment, their lips would then be too _swollen _to even say her name…

There was a silence for several minutes in which Hermione debated on leaving or not. It sounded like Harry and Ron were unpacking; loud thuds kept shaking the floorboards and someone was rummaging through a suitcase.

"Harry? Can I ask you something?" Ron said timidly. The moving about had stopped; obviously, whatever someone had been searching for, they had found.

"Yeah, sure."

Hermione could sense Ron hesitating a moment before he asked, "Remember this picture? It was taken only a week before…" He broke off, and there was a short silence, but he continued quickly. "We were at Mum's birthday party on our Easter weekend visit back to my house. I don't know how it got into my box, I didn't mean to pack it –"

"I remember," Harry said quietly.

Ron paused again. "Do you think she looks any different now?"

Hermione knew straight away they were talking about her. To hear them speaking about her in a manner that lacked anger and hatred was odd; she tensed up as Harry spoke again.

"Yeah. She does. Of course she does, Ron. It's been six years."

"Her hair's different," Ron went on, ignoring Harry. "She straightened it now, did you notice? And she's done something with her face – I think she's using that mud Ginny uses, make-up, or whatever it's called. And her –"

"Ron, stop," Harry said sharply. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," Ron muttered. A shattering followed his words, and Hermione knew he had destroyed the picture. She rapidly blinked away tears and shifted her weight, only to accidentally trip and bump her arm against the hard wall. It echoed up into the hallway, and Hermione cursed under her breath, knowing they would have heard it.

"What was that?" Ron asked.

"Dunno. Let's go back downstairs."

Rubbing her elbow, Hermione sprinted down the stairs and racked her brain for something to do that wouldn't look totally suspicious. She darted over to the coffee machine and poured a cup, then threw out a chair and plopped down just in time, still breathing heavily. Harry and Ron skeptically entered the room, making sure to give her cold, hard glares. Hermione returned the favor while drowning the disgusting cup of coffee; she forgot to add creamer.

"She drinks coffee. That explains a lot," Ron muttered under his breath to Harry, who nodded, as they passed and exited the room. Once the door closed, Hermione abruptly spit out the tasteless drink and dropped the cup on the table. She waited a full twenty seconds before leaving the room as well, following the direction their voices were headed in. They disappeared into the kitchens, which didn't surprise Hermione, but she kept on walking until she reached a railing that overlooked the Entrance Hall. The students were flooding back from Hogsmeade, their cloaks cradling the mounds of sweets they had managed to carry back. Many went into the Great Hall for dinner while some departed up the stairs to their common rooms, most likely full of candy and not hungry for dinner.

Hermione sighed, resting her head on the rather uncomfortable railing. She was sure of one thing: it was going to be a long and trying year at Hogwarts.


	7. A Divorce is in the Future

**Author's Notes:** I am warning you now; this chapter is quite longer than they usually are. On a normal occasion, I would write somewhere near six pages in Word. This chapter has exceeded that by three whole pages. =) But I like longer chapters, and between the flashback, the discussions, and the new characters I had to introduce, I knew this chapter had to be somewhat lengthier.

I am nearing **SIXTY REVIEWS** on this story! That's amazing! I've never gotten over forty before! Your reviews are keeping me fueled to write more in this story, and perhaps I'll even – GASP! – finish this one for a change! Don't ever forget to submit a review after reading a chapter… your reviews are my power…

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**CHAPTER SIX – A DIVORCE IS IN THE FUTURE**

After a rather sleepless night of tossing and turning, Hermione sauntered into the Great Hall the next morning, making sure she was looking her best nonetheless. It was her chance to impress her new students and staff members (and, secretly, Harry and Ron).

Her stomach twisted nastily when she saw the duo already seated at the head table, catching everyone's attention and laughing enthusiastically. It appeared as if Hermione was the last into breakfast; the Hall was quite full, and as she walked past the Gryffindor table, many students turned their heads to stare and whisper. She searched wildly along the extensive table until she caught sight of Ginny, who was waving her over. Feeling slightly relieved and a bit more at home, Hermione took her seat next to Ginny, trying to ignore the curious stares she was receiving from her co-workers (and the glares from the idiots seated only four chairs down).

The first thing Hermione heard was the high-pitched voice that gasped and squealed, "_Hermione_! You've arrived!" Of course, it belonged to none other than Josie Hacklebush. _Really,_ Hermione thought. _They should just lock her in the dungeons and keep her there_. She had no doubt that many of the other people seated along the table would agree. Being polite, she gave a weak smile, and glanced up and down the table to find a dozen curious faces staring.

"So you're Granger?" asked a raven-haired woman with shining blue eyes next to Ginny. "Everyone's been talking about you all week. You're supposedly some high-and-mighty agent from the Ministry, aren't you?"

"Erm…" Hermione wasn't sure what to make of the woman at first. She reminded Hermione of a witch she had seen in Knockturn Alley once, until she broke into a toothy grin and stuck out her pale hand.

"Desdemona King," she said, quite pleasantly. "I teach Potions, but don't let that give you the wrong idea about me. Ask anyone. I've been here three years and the kids adore me."

Hermione could feel Ginny shaking with silent laughter, but Desdemona appeared to be friendly and she decided to let the snickering slide. It was rather reassuring knowing that, for once, a diabolical person didn't fill the position as Potions Master – or, in this case, Mistress.

"I must say, I'm quite a fan of your work," chattered a young man on Hermione's right. He looked to be around her age, if not a couple years older, and was sporting a red cap with letters too faded to read atop his beach blonde hair (the cap clashed horribly with his robes, Hermione noted). "What you do is so amazing. I tried making it as an agent and nearly burned half of Scotland to ashes; I suppose the job isn't for everyone," he added, a regretful look crossing his face.

"Er, thank you," Hermione replied kindly, trying to suppress her own giggles.

The man's head snapped up. "I'm sorry; didn't introduce myself. James Horn – Arithmancy." He stuck out his hand for Hermione to shake. She couldn't help breaking into a grin herself as she remembered how she used to fantasize about teaching Arithmancy, as it was her favorite class.

Deciding to take a risk, Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron, who were watching intently. Ron was consecutively rolling his eyes and Harry sat with his arms folded and his own eyes narrowed. Clearly, they were jealous of loosing the limelight to Hermione. This only made Hermione's smirk widen.

She was introduced to the only remaining person she did not know; a tiny little Japanese man by the name of Jeffery Yang. He spoke a sentence in his native language that Hermione did not understand at first, until he repeated it in English – "Hello, and welcome to a magical land full of spectacular wonders." Ron snickered quite noticeably and Hermione was sure to shoot him a look that said, "Shut up before I rip your face off."

Surprisingly, Professors Sprout and Flitwick were still at Hogwarts, teaching the same subjects they taught Hermione so many years ago. Looking like they hadn't aged a day, they welcomed Hermione back, giving her small winks and narrating short paragraphs that, in a nutshell, described her to be one of their favorite and most dedicated pupils ever. She burned a bright color of crimson, completely ignoring Ron's cough that sounded strangely like a rude insult.

Peculiarly, two seats at the end of the table near McGonagall were empty (one was obviously Hagrid's, as it was easily five times larger than the others). Hermione was close to asking who the other chair belonged to when the Great Hall doors flew open and thudded against the wall with a deafening bang. The whole student body turned to watch the figure, an olive-skinned woman with flowing, curled chocolate hair, enter into the room and march down the aisle up to the staff table. Obviously, Hermione was not the last to arrive at breakfast after all.

"Good morning, Bella," Ginny said aloud.

The woman's head shot up to see who had spoken, and instead of her chestnut eyes gazing at Ginny, they trailed over to Hermione. She scrunched up her symmetrically perfect face for a moment, thinking of who the new girl could be, then her eyes widened slightly and Hermione could've sworn she tensed up.

"The new Transfiguration teacher, Granger? The spy?" she asked. Hermione detected a faint accent that sounded oddly like Italian. Still, the unique enunciation only added more mystery to this already strange woman.

"Yes," Hermione answered strongly. "Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

The Italian shot Hermione a bewitching smile and responded, "Bella Levrero, Astronomy professor. Nice to have you aboard the staff, Hermione." Hermione couldn't help but wince slightly at the minor mispronunciation of her name. But she wasn't going to make a big deal out of it; something about this woman mystified her, and really, she didn't feel like going into more detail with her at the moment.

Bella took a seat next to Harry and engaged in conversation with him almost immediately. At least that was one less person off her back, Hermione thought gratefully.

Realizing for the first time that she was really quite hungry, she decided to pile the freshly cooked pancakes enticingly sitting directly in front of her onto her empty plate. The table returned to its normal conversation, though Hermione couldn't help but feel pleased on the impression she felt she left on her new co-workers.

"I also wanted to say congratulations on winning the Most Valuable Witch award," James said suddenly, causing Hermione to blush perceptibly. "Really remarkable speech you made last winter."

"Oh, you were there?" Hermione asked. "I had no idea. Yes, that speech took me a week to come up with… I stayed awake till three in the morning most nights, re-writing so many paragraphs that it wasn't until the fourth night I thought of having my quill do all the writing for me." The two broke into laughter, only to be stopped by a conspicuously forced cough from Ron. Ginny was sure to glare daggers at her brother for several long minutes until Ron got up from the table and angrily stormed from the Great Hall. Hermione was strongly reminded of one incident in their sixth year, concerning a certain letter written to her by Viktor Krum.

_[FLASHBACK]_

_It was Saturday morning, right at the peak of breakfast time. The Hall was packed with students, all excited about the upcoming Hogsmeade visit that afternoon. Hermione and Ron sat alone in the midst of the commotion, talking briskly. Harry hadn't shown up for breakfast; Ron reported that he had stayed in bed, insisting he felt ill._

_When Ron began shoving strips of bacon into his mouth, Hermione took the opportunity to pull out a letter she had stuck inside her planner. It had been received only the day before and she hadn't had the time to reply back yet. Taking out a quill and a blank piece of parchment, she started writing vigorously._

_"'S that?" Ron asked thickly, with his mouth full of bacon bits. Hermione had an urge to tell him to keep his mouth shut when he was eating but decided it would be better to not say anything at all._

_"Oh, just a letter," Hermione replied airily. Ron swallowed his heap of food and attempted to peer across the table at the long letter written in swirly, romantic handwriting._

_"From who?"___

_"Erm, a friend."___

_"Which friend?"__ Ron asked, growing impatient and straining his neck to see what the letter said._

_Hermione sighed. "_Viktor_, if you must know, Ron," she snapped._

_She watched the color quickly drain out of his face. He was nearly standing on his chair to read Viktor's letter now, but Hermione stacked a pile of books in front of her parchment, blocking his view. "You mean ickle Vicky?"_

_"Don't call him that," Hermione said, clenching her teeth._

_"I'll call him whatever I like, thanks. What's he bothering you about now?"_

_It was truly amazing how in just a few mere seconds they could go from having a nice, sociable conversation to an argument that was most likely about to blow up any minute._

_"He isn't _bothering_ me at all, Ronald. I quite like his letters. And you may not call him whatever you like. _And_ you should stop poking your nose into other people's business."_

_"Let me see that," Ron muttered, reaching around the books for the paper. Hermione was caught off guard and, unfortunately, was not quick enough; Ron had seized the parchment and kept it out of Hermione's reach as he read. He skimmed through it quickly, his eyes narrowing, detesting each and every word written._

_"Tell him no," he said quietly, throwing the letter in her face._

_"Ron –"_

_"He can't come and _stay_ a week with you in hopes to 'enhance your relationship'!" Ron yelled. His face was rapidly turning the color of the cherry sweater he was wearing. "What the hell is that man talking about? _What_ relationship? We don't want any Bulgarians staying at Hogwarts with us right now. Tell him no."_

_Deciding to choose her words carefully, Hermione responded slowly in hopes of not letting Ron's words set her off like a firecracker. "Viktor and I _do_ have a relationship, Ron, whether you approve of it or not. He is a very close friend of mine, and I must say I don't appreciate the way you talk about him. Viktor's a good, kind person at heart."_

_"Don't give me that sentimental rubbish."_

_"And furthermore, I believe that Dumbledore would love to have a foreign student come visit. He seemed quite fond of the idea back during the Triwizard Tournament."_

_"Since when have you become all sappy over that git?" Ron asked, disgusted. "Wasn't it just a week ago you were complaining about the flowers he sent you in the mail?"_

_"I was _allergic_ to them," Hermione responded sharply. "I spent two days in the hospital because of that, remember? Of course, it wasn't his fault; he had no way of knowing I was so sensitive to the lilacs. They were beautiful, though. Such a nice gesture –"_

_"Just shut up about him."_

_Hermione was taken aback, and quite affronted, too. Did she hear him correctly? Ron could insult her and Viktor all he wanted, but he had no right to tell her to shut up._

_"No, Ron, _you_ shut up!" Hermione said heatedly – well, really, she shouted it, and attracted a few stares from nearby watchers, but she didn't notice nor care. "You're constantly going on about Viktor and offending me for liking him, and I think I've had enough. I'm lucky to know such a sensitive and considerate man as Viktor; perhaps that's why I care for him so! And maybe if you weren't such a pigheaded _prat_, I'd care for you like that, too!"_

_There was a silence after Hermione's speech in which she found her face burning. She shouldn't have said that last sentence; even though the prat part was true and needed to be said, the last half didn't. It just slipped out. Several first years a couple seats down were giggling uncontrollably, and Hermione's stomach lurched when she caught a glimpse of Malfoy watching intently from the Slytherin table. A nasty sneer crept onto his lips and Hermione could only imagine what he was working on in his head._

_Ron was shocked, too, but he quickly disguised it by glowering at Hermione. "Fine!" he yelled, standing up and knocking his chair over. "I don't need this." He destroyed Hermione's tower of books purposely, spilling her ink all over Viktor's letter. Usually this would please him, but Ron was in such a rage he didn't even notice. He grabbed his bag and stormed from the Hall, careful to slam the doors loudly behind him. The room was hushed for several long, painstaking moments until Malfoy announced aloud, "Looks like a divorce is in the future!"_

_The room broke into uproarious laughter. Hermione felt like all fingers were being pointed to her; she couldn't stand being the center of amusement in front of the entire student body. She glared furiously at Malfoy, who was banging his fists on the table, tears streaking out of his eyes. Goyle and Crabbe were banging alongside Malfoy, sending the cutlery flying a foot in the air._

_Glancing down the table, Hermione even saw Ginny chuckling with mirth. Her face was so hot it could've melted off her bones. Almost as infuriated as Ron, she ripped up Viktor's ink-drenched letter before grabbing her books and leaving the table. Malfoy made quite noticeable fish lips at her as she passed, only to send the Slytherins into bigger fits of laughter. She was nearly over the threshold when she took her wand out from inside her robes, muttered something beneath her breath, and put it back quickly, only to exit seconds later. Hermione was several feet down the corridor when she heard Malfoy scream shrilly from the Hall; obviously, he just realized the fish lips he puckered at her had swollen to about ten times their average size. Even in all her anger, she couldn't help but smirk._

_[END FLASHBACK]_

It was happening, she thought wildly. Her schooldays were going to repeat themselves – everything was going to happen over again. First Ron would fly from the room in a fit of rage, then Harry would get a new girlfriend and stop talking to them for a month, then Voldemort would attack St. Mungo's, then –

"Hermione? Don't let him bother you, okay?"

She looked to her left and saw Ginny peering at her curiously. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Don't let Ron get to you. He's a git, anyway, and he's just sore because everyone would rather listen to you than hear about his dull adventures in Africa."

"Ginny," Hermione said seriously, lowering her voice, especially since she could see Harry watching them out of the corner of her eye. "I really need to talk to you, but not now. Somewhere private. I'm not teaching classes yet today; so during your lunch break, could you meet me in the Entrance Hall?"

"Sure," Ginny replied, looking slightly perplexed.

Hermione checked her watch and, seeing the time, figured McGonagall would want them to be in her office by now. The Hall was slowly emptying as the students ran off to prepare for their first lessons of the day. Saying goodbye to her new co-workers, all of whom gave her bright smiles and waved, she pushed back her chair and left the table. Harry was still conversing with Bella and only stopped momentarily to give her a nice, good glare. She thought he should get going, as well; but he being late to the meeting _would_ provide her a good laugh.

McGonagall's office wasn't far off. Hermione could remember the route almost exactly – down a few corridors, across the courtyard, and round a corner. The door was ajar and she could see Ron sitting anxiously in a chair facing McGonagall's desk; unluckily, McGonagall had not yet arrived. Hermione thought that if she lurked in the hallway until she heard footsteps coming she could avoid spending excess time with Ron, but he spotted her, so she had no choice but to enter the room and take a seat next to him.

Ron said nothing and didn't even give her his customary glare. He pretended not to notice that she had sat down; instead, he busied himself with observing the different-colored quills neatly organized on McGonagall's desk.

The two sat in silence for a long time; Ron had moved onto examining an odd replica of the school on a shelf that conveniently allowed him to turn his body away from Hermione. Hermione, on the other hand, merely sat in her chair, staring at her feet, wondering if this was the right moment to ask a question that had been nagging her for a long time.

"Ron?"

Ron glanced at her presumptuously, as if daring her to speak up. Hermione's heart started racing; she didn't want to look like an idiot. Perhaps she just shouldn't say anything and wait for McGonagall to arrive. But the silence was more painful than any words he could say to her. And was it really going to continue like this all year? Would they just pretend the other didn't exist but talk behind their backs anyway? She couldn't let this totally interfere with her duty; she had to remain faithful to the Ministry, solve the case, and teach her students as well, which would take a lot of time and energy out of her. Old mixed feelings just couldn't get in the way.

But Ron was still looking at her, his annoyance beginning to show, as she sat there biting the bottom of her lip.

"Never mind."

"What?"

"I _said_ never mind."

"What were you going to say?" he demanded stubbornly.

_I was going to ask whether you'd thought about me at all in the past six years_, Hermione thought. Repeating these words in her mind made her sound like a conceited fool. "Nothing!" She replied heatedly, giving Ron her own glare.

"If you weren't going to say anything, why did you –"

He stopped mid-sentence, staring over her head towards the door. Hermione heard footsteps and swiveled around in her chair to see Harry walking towards them. He was looking at Ron curiously, as if to say, "What are you talking to her about? You're not allowed to talk to her."

Harry said nothing except make an odd grunting noise at Ron as he sat down on Ron's opposite side. Hermione lounged back and folded her arms; she was considering leaving the room if McGonagall didn't show up in the next twenty seconds.

Just as Ron leaned over to whisper something in Harry's ear, someone else entered the room; they all looked up to see McGonagall striding over to where the three were sitting, muttering under her breath. She was positively fuming, Hermione noticed.

"I apologize for being late," she said coldly. "A seventh year in my classroom thought it would be _funny_ to turn the desks into rampaging boars. I walked in to find nearly the entire class piled on the window sill. It does take a while to write up a week's worth of detentions."

Normally, Hermione would have chuckled, but she chose to show no emotion around Harry and Ron. McGonagall took a seat behind her desk, facing them, and shuffled several papers before staring at the three obstinate countenances.

"Well," she began, raising her eyebrows slightly. "First off, I would like to thank you all for assisting Hogwarts and the Ministry in this case. As important as it is – whether or not you _realize_ its magnitude –" (here, McGonagall took the opportunity to glance meaningfully at Hermione, who shrunk back in her seat) "– it should not be taken advantage of. This is not a game. Your schooldays at Hogwarts are over, so I ask that you consider your new role in the world." She halted momentarily, most likely to let her words sink in, and rummaged through a few more pieces of parchment before taking a long breath and continuing. "While I understand that it is none of my business and not my place to interfere, I must say I am quite surprised at the three of you."

Hermione was thoroughly taken aback. She had never expected McGonagall to speak of their situation. Glancing sideways at Harry and Ron, she saw they showed the same expression of astonishment and, she noticed, slight mortification.

"I must say, I had never seen such a stronger relationship between three students in all my years of teaching at Hogwarts," said McGonagall smoothly. "I believe I am out of the loop on what is currently going on, and excuse me for being forward, but I highly recommend looking beyond the difficulties in your past and focusing on the present. _Nothing_ can interfere with your mission, and there are no other people in the world as proficient as you. It is going to take cooperation and _teamwork_ to work through the situation at hand. Understand?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied promptly. She could hear stifled sniggers from Harry and Ron and, wanting to be polite to McGonagall, sharply stomped on Ron's toe with her heel. His sniggering ceased and was soon replaced by small whimpers.

Glancing amongst the trio, their former professor frowned faintly and sighed. "Potter and Weasley, I suppose I shall begin with you first. I am sure you have been curious as to what your purpose will be here this year. It's really quite simple. While Miss Granger will be rather busy teaching her classes, she will not have as much time to investigate as you will. I don't want the students to expect that they're being watched. They have been informed the two of you are visitors from the Ministry and are staying with us to do research for a new department. You have permission to quiz the students all you like, as long as it remains unsuspicious, and I do expect you to monitor their behavior in classes every so often. And as much as I trust my loyal and devoted staff," she added, looking sullen, "It would be much appreciated if you could… perhaps watch them too, as well."

"What for?" Ron asked bluntly.

"I just want to be sure we don't have any impostors in our midst; understand?" The three shook their heads, all thinking deeply and concentrating on the information they were being fed.

"And Miss Granger," said McGonagall, turning to face her. "Your job here this year is of the _utmost_ importance. Your main job is to teach your students, because their academic excellence is at stake in your class. Of course, I'm sure you've already taken this into account. The students do not suspect anything about you; they've been told you're merely filling in this year as Transfiguration professor. But being at the head of class and able to see the actions and movements of everyone – you'll have the entire school in your room at one point – is a major asset. I trust you have taken some time to read up on Transfiguration?"

"Of course," Hermione said.

"Excellent. Normally, we would have you go through a training program, but as the situation is dire and you are very well-prepared, I don't see it as necessary. You can find more books on the subject in your dormitory; I would suggest doing some more basic reading tonight before you start teaching in the morning. Notes have been left on your desk where the different years have left off in learning. I expect you to be preparing for your first class, a rather rowdy group of fourth years, right away after breakfast tomorrow."

Hermione nodded knowingly. She couldn't help but feel slightly excited at the thought of actually being the teacher for once. She still had so much planning to do… she figured she would get started on it the moment their conference was over. But then she remembered the urgency of talking to Ginny and decided to get her priorities straight. First Ginny, then drawing up class schedules.

"Er, Professor," Harry, who had been quiet the entire time, spoke up. "Can – can you tell us _what_ exactly is going on here?"

A grim look crossed McGonagall's face. She took her glasses off and stared at the top of her desk for several moments before speaking in a low tone. "It's complicated, Potter. I myself am not sure of how to describe it. It's as if the students are being controlled, under the Imperius Curse, it seems – which is highly impossible, so it's ruled out completely. You'll have to see for yourself what I am talking about."

"Can you give us some examples?" Hermione inquired. "Ginny was telling me –"

"Examples cannot fully explain the happenings here," McGonagall said sharply. "But yes, I suppose I can. You've heard about the First Year that held a poor house-elf hostage in his dorm for a week?" Hermione nodded, but Harry and Ron looked completely baffled. "Had the strongest Dark Magic charms on his door that I've seen in a long time," she told them. "Not even the most trained curse-breaker we had could get through, until a week later when the child opened his door and faintly asked why a group of men were waiting outside for him."

"So he had no recollection of what he did?" Ron asked.

"Correct," said McGonagall. "The most disturbing occurrence – if not amusing – was probably the incidence in Professor Trelawney's room last month. A group of third years were studying tea leaves and a young girl took Sybil's tea cup and predicted every single wicked thing possible. And when Sybil looked herself, it was all true. There was pain, suffering, the Grim –" (Hermione glanced at Harry, who was looking sickened) "– so naturally, due to shock, Sybil passed out in the middle of her own lesson, and I'm sorry to say this wasn't one of her dramatic performances."

"That's creepy," Ron muttered.

McGonagall nodded in agreement. "The teachers and I have compiled a list of theories, but nothing seems logical enough. And the only wizards in all of Britain the Ministry figured could solve this case are sitting right in front of me. So I say, good luck, and report to me whenever you see fit. Good day."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were dismissed from her office and left immediately, still trying to sort out the information she had given them. Harry and Ron were discussing their meeting with McGonagall as Hermione trailed behind them, secretly wishing she too could be involved in their conversation.

"I'm sure _she_ would love that," she heard Ron say quite loudly, and she knew they had moved on to discussing her, as he shot her an arrogant look over his shoulder. Hermione desperately wanted to stick her tongue out at him but knew it would look terribly childish. Instead she pretended not to notice and turned down a corridor to her right, which incidentally led into the courtyard. A bell sounded somewhere and soon the courtyard was swamped with students, all on their way to lunch. Hermione remembered the talk she had planned with Ginny and continued on her way to the Entrance Hall, fighting the crowds of ravenous children.

Just like she had asked, Ginny was leaning against the front doors, watching the Great Hall flood with students eager for food. When she saw Hermione approaching, she smiled and stuck out her hand, which contained a sandwich for her. Realizing she _was_ quite hungry, Hermione smiled in gratitude and suggested they take a walk around the grounds.

Hagrid's hut could easily be seen in the distance; lights were on in the windows and smoke was rising up out of the chimney. "Ginny," Hermione began. "Why wasn't Hagrid at breakfast this morning?"

Ginny shrugged. "Dunno. Probably preparing for his class, or something. He was introducing baby unicorns to his second years today and was really excited about it."

Hermione took a bite out of her sandwich, which happened to be turkey and mayonnaise. She and Ginny walked down towards the lake, commenting on the weather and the beautiful gardens blossoming around the school on the way. They slowly began circling the lake, watching the giant squid lazily glide across its surface.

"So," said Ginny casually. "What did you want to talk about?" She had an odd knowing glint in her eye that made Hermione suspect she had already guessed.

"Ginny, do you think its – _wrong_ for them to be angry with me?"

"Harry and Ron, right?" Ginny asked stupidly. She took a deep breath before speaking. "They've always been prats; Ron has, anyway. Try living with him your whole life – he really gets to you after a while. But I suppose they figured they would never see you again and they didn't have a plan of what to do when they did, so they've taken up criticizing you instead. Though, I must admit, I'm not quite sure _why_ you aren't on great speaking terms."

Hermione sighed. "I've told you this before," she said exasperatedly. "Harry is – well, I suppose he's still mad that Ron and I didn't support him in the fight against Voldemort, which has a long story behind it, so don't ask me. Though I absolutely _love_ the way Harry is no longer angry with Ron but still angry with me. I honestly don't see the fairness in that. Ron was just as guilty as I."

"But you know what they're like," Ginny said pointedly. "They're –"

"Prats, I know."

"– so of course they were going to make up. I bet Ron convinced Harry."

"And Ron…" Hermione stopped momentarily, trying not to choke up. She averted her eyes to the giant squid again and watched as he reached up one of his long, slimy tentacles to slap a bird that was flying lowly over the water. "He never got over the fact that there were more important things in my life than _him_. He didn't understand why I couldn't completely devote my life to him, and if he couldn't respect my decision maturely then we had no choice but to break up. And now he's decided to hate me for it."

Ginny was silent for a moment, and Hermione could tell she was doing some deep thinking. They had reached the opposite side of the bank now and were walking near the Forbidden Forest. Hermione watched the different animals chase each other along the forest line and was startled when Ginny spoke again.

"Do you still like him?"

"_What?_" Hermione asked, surprised that Ginny would say something so bluntly.

"Do you still like Ron?"

"No," Hermione replied a bit too shortly. Ginny quirked an eyebrow and studied her face.

"Come on, Hermione. You can tell me."

"Tell you _what_? That your brother's an idiot? I think you already knew that. I don't like him in the very least, all right? And I'd appreciate it if you stopped quizzing me!" she finished harshly, beginning to breath heavily. Ginny shrugged and muttered an apology and promised never to ask again. The two continued walking as if nothing had happened; their conversation turned from Ron to Hermione's new teaching position almost immediately.

"I've got to get back up to the castle," Ginny told her once they had completely circled the lake. "I can't be late for my next class; it's my seventh years and I'm afraid of what they'll do to my classroom if I'm not in there."

Hermione chuckled and bid Ginny goodbye. She stood rooted to the spot for several minutes, watching her friend dash up the lawns of Hogwarts, before turning back to face the lake, mixed emotions swimming in her mind. She considered visiting Hagrid but, glancing behind her, could see a class stumbling down towards his hut, obviously going for a lesson. She decided it could wait for another day.

So Hermione decided to do the thing she did best when she was feeling unsure of herself; go and read a nice, fat book.


	8. Professor Granger

**Author's Notes:** Now I'm nearing **EIGTHY** reviews! This is absolutely superb! I completely feel like a celebrity here; now I can finally wear THESE without feeling stupid… ::puts on oversized glasses shaped like stars::

I'm sorry if you think the story is moving along too slowly. Hermione's been at Hogwarts for two or three chapters, now, and none of the plot, besides what you already knew, has been revealed. I just didn't think it would be wise to rush into everything right away, you know? But I suppose I've waited long enough.

I feel that I must reply to some intriguing reviews, so here we go.

**UniMyth:** Harry is mad at Hermione for many reasons; hopefully, the next couple of chapters will clear some of that up. And I must admit, you're very perceptive – or maybe I'm just too obvious. Either way, I like the way you're thinking about Bella, though I can't say if you're right or wrong. You'll figure it out eventually!

**Megafreak:** You're one among several people who have commented on the famous golden trio breaking up. It hurts me inside more than you can imagine writing such hateful things, but it's what makes the story interesting. Has it seemed like I'm dragging on their little non-speaking stage for too long? I don't want to rush into anything else real soon…

**Bracken-Fae:** Which argument, exactly? Ron and Hermione's or the entire trio's? I've already done Ron and Hermione's – that was in the first couple chapters, I believe. I think you're referring to the trio's, and if so, I'm not sure I'll do an argument, exactly, since everything's been explained anyway. But if it's still a little hazy, then maybe I will; I don't know.

**SeverusSnapesgirl12786:** I admit, I was quite surprised when I read your review and you mentioned Snape, but it's a good idea. I should add him in somehow, or at least do some explaining about him. And don't worry; we all love Snape one way or another.

**CrimsonEnchantress:** I just wanted to say I loved your reviews. They made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Thank you.

I must really like semi-colons; I used quite a few in the preceding paragraphs. =)

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**CHAPTER SEVEN – PROFESSOR GRANGER**

Hermione woke the next morning to a soft rain pattering on her dorm window. She groggily blinked her eyes several times before getting up to stare out over the grounds; droplets of rain were making little ripples all over the enormous lake and the trees of the Forbidden Forest creaked in the wind. For a short moment, she wondered why she felt so dazed. Then she remembered how late she had stayed awake the night before planning the lessons for her first day – it was at least two o'clock before she pulled on her pajamas and crawled into bed.

After brushing up and pulling on her nicest pair of robes, Hermione left her dorm and made her way down the stone steps into the staff room. It was quite empty, save for the few scattered teacups lying atop the vacant tables.

The corridors were oddly quiet as Hermione made her way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Her footsteps echoed off the walls, which created a rather eerie effect. She sped up her pace, rubbing her arms; the November air cooled the inside of the school as well as the outside.

Hermione entered the warm and inviting Great Hall to find it buzzing with breakfast chatter. Again, she was the last to arrive, and she scanned the table, making sure Bella was there this time. Trying to put faces with names to help remember who was who, she examined the rest of the table and found Hagrid sitting at the very end (after all, he wasn't very hard to miss). He was conversing with Harry and Ron but broke off into a smile when he saw her. Harry and Ron followed his gaze, only to scoff simultaneously and pretend they weren't looking at all.

"'Ermione!" said Hagrid in his husky voice. "Great ter see yeh again! Sorry I missed yer arrival the other day. I was a bit busy with, er – stuff, if yeh get my drift," he added with a wink. Hermione figured he was referring to important Order work.

"Of course. Lovely to see you again as well."

"Listen," he said, lowering his head and his voice to block out Harry and Ron. "I was wonderin' if I could a word with yeh this evening. Come on down to me hut round seven o'clock, hm? I'll make cakes fer yeh."

Hermione grimaced at the thought of breaking her teeth on Hagrid's so-called cakes. But she wouldn't pass up a chance to have a nice chat with her long-time friend. "Yeah, sure. I'd like that. I'll come after dinner."

As soon as she promised to visit him, her stomach lurched unpleasantly; what if Hagrid had invited Harry and Ron, too? Hermione would not under any circumstances find herself in the same room as them unless when needed, and she didn't want to make a scene in front of Hagrid, either. Her nerves loosened, however, when he gave her a secretive grin, straightened up, and continued his conversation with Harry and Ron as if nothing had happened. Something told Hermione she would be going alone.

She continued along, making sure to get a chair towards the other end of the table. One was open in between Ginny and Desdemona King, so Hermione plopped down, suddenly not wanting any breakfast at all.

"Bit nervous about your first day, aren't you?" Desdemona asked.

"I suppose," said Hermione, trying to not let her apprehension show.

"You'll do fine," Ginny offered encouragingly. "You're _Hermione_, after all."

"My first day was a nightmare," said Desdemona glumly, staring off into space. "The students were so accustomed to a wicked Potions professor. So when I walked into my first class, which consisted of a group of mischievous fourth years, I found myself sitting on a large, slippery toad instead of a stool. No one knows I'm afraid of… toads," she said, her voice now very close to a whisper. "I was completely mortified."

Hermione gulped. Desdemona's story wasn't exactly a positive one. "Thanks," she said weakly.

"Oh, but they love me now," Desdemona added airily, still staring across the room; obviously she didn't notice she was stirring her coffee with her wand instead of her spoon. "I'm not a pushover, of course… I hand out about five detentions a week. But they've been so afraid of their past professors that I came as quite a surprise, or so I was informed."

"No," Hermione said quickly. "They were scared of their former teachers. We all were." Ginny nodded profusely in agreement.

"Just let me know if any of your students are misbehaving," Desdemona said impishly. "I'll be sure to give them a good bewitching –"

"Des!"

"Sorry, Ginny."

The rest of breakfast passed with laughter and Hermione in fairly high spirits, however nervous she still remained. When the Hall was beginning to empty, Hermione bid Ginny and Desdemona goodbye and made her way to her still rather bare office (which she decorated quickly the evening before).

She could hear her classroom gradually filling with students, all chattering stridently. Her hands shaking slightly, Hermione gathered up her planner and the notes that had been left for the fourth year class. She scanned over them again quickly, words such as "disruptive" and "playful" jumping out at her. _Well_, she mused, _this shall be an interesting morning_.

When she entered her classroom, the students took their seats immediately (several of whom had been dancing on the desktops), all gazing at her inquisitively. From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed two boys in Gryffindor robes smirk roguishly as a girl in the front row turned to her left to whisper in another girl's ear. Everyone else remained still, waiting for their new professor to speak.

"Good morning," Hermione said in what she hoped was a confident voice. "I am Professor Granger, and I will be teaching you Transfiguration for the remainder of the year. Now, I do have notes from your previous teacher explaining where you've left off, so I can only hope that I'll be able to do as well as he did. If you ever feel the need to point something out to me, please, don't hesitate."

"Your shoe's untied," said a small boy with untidy brown hair to Hermione's right. The class giggled as Hermione bent down to lace her boot.

"Thank you for telling me," she said, standing up and trying to keep a straight face. "You just saved me from a very serious potential injury. May I have your name?"

"Theodore Parnell Lloyd, but everyone calls me Theo," he responded in an artificial haughty tone. "At your service."

Glancing at his robes, Hermione noticed he was a Gryffindor. She had never known a Gryffindor to be so disrespectful. It was clear she had just met the clown of the class; after all, she had been warned this was a rowdy bunch. Well, two could play this game. She wasn't going to let a child dominate her on her first day of teaching.

"Well, Mr. Lloyd, perhaps you can tell me where exactly your class left off?"

"Certainly, miss," he replied slickly. Hermione detested being called miss, especially by someone half her age and half her size. "Let's see… last week, our professor took us on a field trip to Hogsmeade so we could, um – study the new batch of shape-shifting owls the post office had just received. And he set us an essay, and the person who wrote the longest essay was awarded free Butterbeer. That was me, of course. Yeah, he always gave us free candy for doing so well in class, that's why we're all so smart, so I would suggest that you do the same. We're supposed to be learning about Advanced Transformation this week, and McGonagall's granted you permission to let us turn our fellow classmates into –"

"She's done nothing of the sort!" exclaimed a girl two seats down from him. "Please, Professor, don't listen to Theo. We're due to learn about Asian dragons this week. And we've _never_ gotten free candy for completing our homework, what a stupid thing to –"

"Shut up, Mallory," Theo said curtly. "We are too supposed to transform one another into animals, McGonagall said so!"

The class broke out in an argument. It seemed half the room was on Theo's side, going along with his ridiculous story, while the other half supported Mallory and the truth. Hermione wondered how smart Theo was taking her for; she couldn't possibly believe a tale full of such rubbish. But, still, she had to give the child credit for trying.

"I think someone has an overactive imagination," she suggested pleasantly. Theo sunk back in his chair, glowering at the girl who has spoken against him. Hermione turned to her and asked, "And what's your name?"

"Mallory Beldam," she responded, stumbling over her words. Obviously, Mallory was quite flattered to be called upon by a teacher like so; vaguely, she reminded Hermione of someone.

"Thank you very much, Miss Beldam, for correcting your classmate and enlightening me on what you're expecting to learn. I do believe I will continue with your previous teacher's schedule, for now, and we'll get started on Asian dragons straight away." Hermione moved to take several large books out of her bag, but Theo spoke up again.

"I swear, Professor!" he shouted, getting rather frustrated. "We're due to start Advanced Transformation! I'm supposed to turn Drake into a _hippogriff_, for God's sake, so you've got to teach it to us!"

"I highly doubt any of you will be changing each other into hippogriffs," said a slick male voice from the back of the room. The entire class swung around in their seats to see who had spoken, including Hermione, who was rather startled. A tall man with an overconfident smirk was leaning against the doorframe, basking in the glory of the students' excited murmurs. Several girls near Hermione pointed and whispered, "I've seen him all over the papers!" while many of the boys simply stared at him, wearing very impressed expressions. Hermione, however, groaned inwardly.

"Who are you?" asked a plump child in the second row.

"I, dear boy, am known as many things, Sir Wizard the Magnificent being one of them. You, on the other hand, may refer to me as Mr. Ron Weasley – though you don't have to use the mister; it makes me sound old."

The class clapped politely as if he had just made a Nobel Prize-winning speech. Ron smirked again at Hermione and took a seat in the back of the room behind a girl who nearly swooned out of her chair.

Hermione realized her mouth was hanging open in shock and closed it quickly. No one had told her Ron would be popping in on her very first class, which she was already quite nervous about. Perhaps he would just be staying for a few minutes; he _was_ supposed to do some investigating in classes, McGonagall had said. But it seemed oddly suspicious to Hermione that he should pick this particular class to inspect.

There was no way she would be able to teach this lesson confidently, she told herself. Not with Ron monitoring _her_ in the back of the room. And the thing that baffled her the most was his new attitude toward her. Wasn't it just the day before he would glare severely whenever she passed? Now here he was, sitting there like a schoolchild, wearing that awful smirk, just waiting for her to mess up.

Hermione decided she didn't like his new attitude any more than his old.

But she wouldn't let him change anything. To her, he wasn't even there. These students were expecting her to teach them about dragons, and that she would.

"Right, so – so Asian dragons," she began somewhat feebly, taking out her volume again. "Please turn to page five hundred eighty-three in _Beasts of Asia and Africa_."

There was a ruffling of pages as the room flipped through their books to Hermione's requested page. A boy near Theo raised his hand shakily, asking Hermione if he could borrow an extra copy, because he forgot to feed his cat for a week so the creature clawed up his own. Aside from that, the lesson was off to a smooth start.

"It is a commonly known fact," Hermione began, "that the dragons of Asia have the most unique features and brilliant colors of any dragons in the world. While having a reputation to be quite dangerous and fearsome, this does not apply to all breeds located in the Asia region. Take the Japanese Jaguar for example. Named after a large animal of the cat family for it's resemblance in size, it is easily the smallest dragon and the least formidable. Now consider –"

"Actually, the Striped Indian Inferno is the least dangerous," interrupted someone from the very back of the room. "True, the Jaguar is the smallest in size, but is slightly more true to its name when it comes to behavior. Trust me – you don't want to come across the path of one of those, I've tried it."

There was an _ooh_ throughout the room when Ron finished his speech. The fourth years were very awed by his dragon account.

"Did it breathe fire all over the place?" asked a Ravenclaw. "Did it try to breathe fire at _you_?"

"A fair few times," Ron explained as if his near-death experience was something he'd never forget. "If it wasn't for me, it would have burned down the whole village. Luckily, I knew just the spell to prevent that from happening. They'll never see the likes of that beast again."

"Excuse me," Hermione said coldly. Ron glanced up and had clearly forgotten she was there. "I was under the impression that _I_ was teaching this lesson, not you."

"Yes, of course," he replied with yet another smirk. "Do continue."

Giving Ron a good, hard frown that she hoped would subdue him for the remainder of the class, Hermione began quizzing her students on what they already knew about Asian dragons. To her surprise, the class was actually quite intelligent, save for the fair few who refused to answer her questions (in response to "What does a Chinese Fireball eat?" Theodore sent consecutive elephant-shaped sparks into the air with his wand before Hermione decided to confiscate it).

"Very nice, class," Hermione exclaimed some thirty minutes later. "A good portion of you would have gotten full marks had that been an actual quiz. I may not hand out candy like your former professor did" – here she glanced meaningfully at Theo, who wasn't looking but drawing on his desk with his quill instead – "but I _can_ give you house points. Thirty to Ravenclaw and twenty to Gryffindor."

"Actually, it's twenty-five to Gryffindor," Ron offered in a would-be gracious tone. "Connor answered twice, you only counted his first answer."

A blonde boy next to Mallory turned a deep shade of red, and Mallory beamed at him proudly.

"Thank you, _Mr_. Weasley," said Hermione, clenching her teeth and trying not to loose her head in front of her entire class. Ron nodded and looked like he was desperately fighting back a snicker. "For Friday, I would like a short essay on an Asian dragon of your choice; it need only be half a roll of parchment!" she added quickly upon hearing her class emit loud and exaggerated groans. "Please be sure to include the beast's eating habits, its area of occupancy, it's physical and behavioral descriptions, and five rare facts. You have ten minutes to begin writing. Oh, and Mr. Lloyd, please come collect your wand."

The class busied themselves with opening their _Beasts of Asia and Africa_ textbooks and searching through their unorganized bags for parchment. Theo sauntered up to Hermione's desk, took his wand, winked at her, and sat back down. He immediately pointed his wand inconspicuously at a girl seated in front of him, levitating her quill backwards when she wasn't looking. The girl straightened with a piece of parchment in hand, saw her quill was missing, and began asking her neighbors frantically if they'd seen it. Hermione sighed and was about to loan the frenzied student a quill when a voice caught her attention.

"Professor," Mallory said, furrowing her brow in concentration. "There's just something I don't understand, and I need it for my essay. If the Russian Black is known to attack others only when its territory is invaded, why did it engage in the fight of 1649 with the Blue-Crested Taiwanese _outside _of its chosen region?"

Hermione chuckled at Mallory's perceptiveness. "Very good question," she replied delightedly, totally forgetting the quill-less girl. "It's quite simple actually. You see –"

"Russian Blacks are incredibly stupid dragons," Ron's voice interrupted yet again in a quite phony studious tone. "They're also known for doing a good job of getting themselves lost and wandering to neighboring countries, which is exactly why the Barrier Act of 1721 was established. I myself couldn't fathom why I encountered one when I was hiking in the mountains of Mongolia once, on my way to save a city from a Yeti, but then I remembered the nature of their stupidity. That particular dragon was so thick it ended up in Taiwan, and who knows how the bloody hell –"

"RON!"

The class had gone silent, turning their heads to stare at their professor instead. Ron too was gazing at her, quite astonished; obviously, he had not expected her to speak up in such a manner.

He had gone too far, Hermione concluded. He _knew_ she was nervous about her first day, so she should've known he would screw up her first chance at making an impression on the school. She had lost count of the times he had interrupted her with information she very well could have presented to the class _without_ the supercilious adventure stories worked in.

Hermione realized the class was staring at her with a mixture of alarm and admiration on their faces. She had nearly lost her professional composure to _Ron_ in front of her very first class of the year, and she could hardly admit that shouting like that was appropriate, either.

"Mr. We –" _Oh, forget that_, she thought "– Ron, may I _kindly_ have a word with you in the hallway, please?"

She purposely ignored the sniggers from several girls in the third row as she followed a rather confounded Ron into the hallway outside her classroom. She was sure to slam the door loudly behind her, too.

"What are you _doing_?" Hermione asked heatedly, making sure to keep her voice down.

"Hmm?" Ron asked, pretending he hadn't a clue in the world as to what she was talking about.

"Don't act like a fool, you stupid prat. This was my _first class_ of my teaching career, and you've just absolutely botched it all up!"

"I was only trying to help," said Ron innocently, trying to hide yet another smirk.

"How _dare_ you come into _my_ classroom and so rudely interrupt me as if I'm not the teacher and you are! I don't know what made you think you had the right to even say so much as a _word_ to me or the students; you're beginning to forget your place here!"

"My _place_ is to drop in on the classes to make sure all's well with the students," Ron said a bit more seriously. "McGonagall obviously doesn't think you can handle that job yourself, so naturally she'd want me to oversee things your first day. If you ask me, you've got a pretty suspicious bunch in there… that little know-it-all, Melanie or whatever she's called, _really_ reminds me of someone –"

"Just shut up, Ron!" Hermione hissed, beginning to crack. "I've completely had it with you and your immature behavior! First you're glaring at me, then you're not speaking to me, and now you're embarrassing me in front of my own class!" She was beginning to grow hysterical. "I mean, what do you _want_ from me?"

Ron stared at her for a minute and scrunched up his forehead as if doing some deep thinking. But before he could say anything, the bell rang, and Hermione's classroom door flew open. The students piled out, many of them staring curiously at Hermione and Ron. Theo winked as he was pulled down the hall by a friend and Mallory waved politely.

"Don't forget – essay, due Friday!" Hermione yelled at the backs of her departing students, none of whom were listening.

She turned to go back into her office to prepare for her next lesson in fifteen minutes – first years – but rounded on Ron for one last comment.

"And if you _ever_ set foot in my classroom again, Ron, I swear that I'll blow you to pieces, so help me God."

With that Hermione turned on her heel and marched over the threshold, slamming the door powerfully in Ron's face. She listened for a moment, wondering if he would disregard her threat and follow her anyway, but she could hear his retreating footsteps and knew he would stay out – for the rest of the day's classes, at least.

By dinner, Hermione was rather tired; her lessons had taken a lot out of her. Thankfully, Ron hadn't shown up anymore, and she was able to teach her students peacefully. She was very impressed with how she felt she did overall, _and_ the kids seemed to like her.

"How'd the day go?" Ginny asked casually mid-way through their meal as she heaped a mountain of potatoes onto her plate.

"Except for a small disturbance this morning, it all went quite nicely. My Ravenclaw fourth years had no trouble transforming their shoes into hares at all; I believe they were the most promising group. Though one second year child – Bernard something or other – accidentally turned his classmate's locks of hair into small snakes, so she was sent to the Hospital Wing for the remainder of the lesson. Can't say we all didn't get a good laugh out of that."

Ginny let out a small giggle before straightening and becoming more serious. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? I mean, was everyone – normal?"

"Yeah," said Hermione, slightly surprised. Honestly, she hadn't thought much about it all day. But she wasn't going to let Ginny know. "I probably wasn't paying close attention during the snakes incident, but otherwise, they all seemed like average students."

"Well, it's only your first day," Ginny said matter-of-factly, re-filling her cup with pumpkin juice. "You're bound to notice something sooner or later. It isn't that hard to miss, really."

Hermione nodded, cleared her plate, and then said good-bye to Ginny. She had decided to head up to her dorm and change into regular clothes before going down to Hagrid's.

The Great Hall had been devoid of many teachers, Hermione noticed, which explained why the staff room was so crowded upon her entrance. She noticed Desdemona, Jeffery, and James in a corner conversing strongly; from the words Hermione could hear, it was obvious they were in a discussion about Quidditch.

Bella was seated on the other side of the room, her cup of coffee drifting up to her mouth every now and then. She was reading a book, and though the letters were too slanted for Hermione to read from her standing point, she could faintly see the name "Emily Dickinson". From the studies she did over the woman in her young years of school, Hermione knew her to be a famous Muggle poet. She just had never expected a woman like Bella Levrero to be so immersed in poetry.

And there, in the very middle of the room, seated together, were Harry and Ron. They both halted in their conversation to look up as she made her way around the tables and towards the staircase. Ron gave her a cold, hard glare, most likely still sore from their argument earlier in the day. But to Hermione's immense surprise, Harry did not. He stared at her in a new light, as if he'd never seen her before, and whispered something in Ron's ear, causing Ron to shout out incomprehensibly. Rather baffled by their strange behavior, Hermione walked more quickly up the stone steps and took sanctuary in her hospitable dorm room.

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**Author's Notes, Edition Two:** Wow! I never do a second author's notes at the end of the chapter! This could give me an excuse to write even longer ones!

This chapter would end up being about fifteen pages long if I included Hermione's visit to Hagrid and some, er, stuff I have planned for after that. Unfortunately, I must be forced to stop here and write the rest in a subsequent chapter. So sorry. The next chapter may be a bit shorter, but it'll have a sufficient amount of goodness to meet your needs. And no, I'm not talking about R/Hr fluff. Sorry again.


	9. A Battle in the Forest

**Author's Notes:** Insert something random and nonsensical here.

Yes, that is what the templates for my author's notes usually look like before I add all this fancy jazz. Just thought that I'd share that little piece of unsystematic information with you all.

Okay, I lied. Please don't hate me for it. I promised this chapter would get moving on the relationships that need repairing amongst the trio, but unfortunately, nothing of that sort occurs in this chapter. You will find out a bit more about certain things from Hagrid, so keep your eyes peeled.

And just for **SeverusSnapesgirl12786**, I've mentioned Snape in this chapter. Just a glimpse, though. Perhaps he'll turn up again in the future… ;)

_And now, an infomercial brought to you by the FFDDD Association of __America__._

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**CHAPTER EIGHT – A ****BATTLE**** IN THE ****FOREST**

There was a swift knocking on Hagrid's front door that immediately triggered the boisterous barking of his boarhound, Fang. As the door was thrust open expectantly, Hermione saw a grinning Hagrid beckoning her in.

"C'mon, get in 'ere, I've made us a nice pot o' tea and some bread ter go with it."

Hermione's stomach lurched unpleasantly. She had been feeling slightly queasy ever since dinner and rock solid bread didn't sound quite so appetizing. But she beamed gratefully at her long-time friend, whom she hadn't seen for several months, and took a seat in an armchair by the fireplace.

In moments, she was presented with warm mint tea and a plate of what appeared to be stone shavings, otherwise known as Hagrid's cooking. "Bit hard," Hagrid muttered uncertainly, poking at one of the bread slices. "I can find butter ter soften it up, hol' on –"

Hermione watched in amusement as he bustled around his tiny kitchen, throwing cupboard after cupboard open, searching for butter. Fang was tailing him closely, and several times Hagrid almost did a flip as he tried to catch himself from falling over his overexcited pet.

"It's okay," Hermione told him reassuringly, only after his entire kitchen was in a shambles. "I'm not very hungry – just ate dinner, you know. I think I'll pass on the bread tonight."

Five minutes later Hagrid had joined her by the fireside, sipping his own cup of tea, with the bread lying on the floor, completely forgotten. Hermione felt that they had so much catching up to do; she wasn't sure where to begin.

"What have you been doing the past months, Hagrid? I hadn't heard from you in ages. Important Order stuff, I suppose?"

"Yeah," Hagrid sighed, sounding exhausted. "Been runnin' back an' forth for different people, though… I s'pose I'm allowed to say, reckon McGonagall or someone told yeh 'bout some of it, at least."

"Do you mean what's going on at the school?"

Hagrid shook his head rather dramatically. "No, Hermione," he said. "Much worse, it is. See, we're thinkin' – the Order, I mean, and I'm not disagreein' – that the Death Eaters are back."

Hermione's mind momentarily flickered to her last meeting with her WIA boss. He had said she same thing but refused to elaborate on the subject.

"What makes you think that? We haven't heard anything from them in such a long time." Honestly, she was hoping that Josie and her boss had both been mistaken in predicting their return, but Hagrid was the third person to say so, and Hermione took Hagrid very seriously – most of the time, when he wasn't trying to raise baby dragons in his kitchen, at least.

"There were spottings round Germany a few months back," said Hagrid broodingly. "Ol' Mad-Eye thought they'd been hidin' out in the Black Forest. And the sightings have been moving' closer to 'ere ever since."

"Were any identified?" Hermione asked with a growing interest.

"No, not a single one. 'Course, we all got our speculations, since we know who's dead or in Azkaban and who ain't. Jus' last week Snape was sent out near the east coast, where the latest spotting was. He was gonna do some sweet talkin' to 'em if he found any, but he came back sayin' there wasn't a trace."

Snape – that was a name Hermione hadn't heard in a while. Just because he saved a hundred or so lives in the battle against Voldemort, he'd been treated like some sort of a hero ever since. While many people still had their doubts about his loyalty, Hermione knew for a fact Snape had unwavering faithfulness to the Order – and, she thought musingly, to Dumbledore's memory. Still, the thought of Snape actually doing a good deed for once sent chills up Hermione's spine.

"Been wantin' to keep it all quiet, I s'pose," Hagrid muttered. "The Ministry thought wizards would launch inter a panic if the _Daily Prophet_ started printin' stories abou' mad Death Eaters on the loose. Can't blame 'em."

"Do you think," Hermione began slowly, deeply thinking, "that their return has anything to do with the happenings at the school? I mean, if not, it's a pretty rare coincidence, don't you think? It's just… odd, really."

"Been thinkin' that all along," Hagrid said seriously. He paused for a minute and poked a long stick into the fire to keep the flames going. "Second day back, I think it was, and we started noticin' strange things. Not but a few days later the Order shows up at the school, askin' fer a conference with McGonagall."

"I just don't understand it, Hagrid," Hermione murmured. Sorting through the facts to create a solution was one of her specialties, but this time she was utterly stumped. She couldn't fit it all together. "Why would the Death Eaters come back? It's a lot to be risking. They know Voldemort's dead for good this time, that's why they all fled into hiding after he was defeated. And why are they supposedly moving our way? If they've been successfully concealed for the past six years, I don't see any reason to jeopardize it now."

"I do," Hagrid muttered.

"What?"

"Harry, o' course."

_Why didn't I think of that?_ Surely they all still wanted Harry dead – he was the one who brought down their master and leader, twice now. Perhaps they thought if it was safe to walk the streets again, they could just kill him quick and get the job done. They probably felt like they owed it to Voldemort; or maybe they were even afraid, though he was dead… And with Harry alive, there was a greater chance of getting captured. The death of him would send the wizard world into a panic…

"Hermione? Still a bit sore on the subject of him, eh?"

"What? Sorry, I was just – I was thinking and didn't hear what you said."

Hagrid frowned noticeably but a look of concern crept across his face. "Yeh still in a row with those two?"

"Who?" Hermione asked innocently, wanting to avoid the subject at all costs. The queasy feeling in her stomach came rushing back immediately.

"I'm talkin' 'bout Harry an' Ron."

"Oh," Hermione whispered, casting her gaze down to the floorboards and studying the bread scattered on the rug. She felt her cheeks growing hot quite quickly. "Well, yes. They're not exactly keen on the idea of being friends again."

"Y'know, they've been down ter see me a few times," said Hagrid thoughtfully, putting aside his drained tea cup. "All's they talk 'bout is you. Harry seemed a bit, er – heated the first time I talked to 'em. Never got over havin' to fight You-Know-Who –"

"He's dead, Hagrid. Say his name like everyone else," Hermione interjected angrily.

"– sorry. _Voldemort_. Never got over havin' to fight 'im alone. I asked why they're still takin' out their anger on yeh when the pair of them are as tight as me own shoelaces, an' they said they worked out their differences but yeh're jus' too stubborn. That came from their mouths, not mine," he added quickly.

"Right," Hermione said quietly, furiously staring into the fireplace.

"But then Harry lightened up a bit," Hagrid continued. "Las' time I saw 'em, he started sayin' he misses the way yeh'd scold him for cheatin' on his homework. Havin' himself a bit of nostalgia, I think," he added, grinning at the astonished look on Hermione's face.

"They won't apologize, those prats," Hermione muttered, still looking into the fireplace. The shocking red flames began to bore into her eyes; she tore her gaze away quickly.

Hagrid continued on as if he hadn't heard her, but perhaps he didn't, as Fang was leaning over his lap and giving his ears a good proper cleaning. "Pretty surprised at yeh, I'd say. Seem to think yer turnin' out into a right fine lady, if I don't say so meself. Ron was –"

He stopped dead at the look on Hermione's face.

"Er, but six years can do that ter a person, yeh know," he hastily added quietly, distracting himself by shoving Fang off his lap. The dog whined and took refuge at Hermione's feet instead.

"Ron, on the other 'and, didn't show no interest in makin' up with yeh," Hagrid said bluntly, unaware of the pained look on Hermione's face. She was silently pleading him to stop before anything was said that would cause her to ricochet off the walls.

"Goin' on 'bout how yeh threw him outta your first class this mornin' when he was tryin' to help. Yeh two shouldn't be makin' scenes like that… students might start suspectin'. Also said somethin' about the nerve yeh have, showin' up at Hogwarts when yeh –"

"WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?" Hermione exploded, jumping from her chair and sending a startled Fang a foot into the air.

"Jus' thought yeh should know," Hagrid responded, somewhat startled as well.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT RON SAYS BEHIND MY BACK!" yelled Hermione, marching towards the fireplace and accidentally treading on the plate of bread along the way (no harm done, however; the bread remained as solid as ever). Fang dashed under the kitchen table, his tail between his legs.

"So you asked me down here to tell me I should let _Ron_ teach my Transfiguration classes? And you wanted to _let me know_ what nasty things he's saying about me to anyone who'll listen? Well, I've got news for you and anyone who spends one minute listening to any words that come out of his mouth – Ron doesn't care for anyone but himself and if he and Harry are going to continue to act like juvenile gits, well, then maybe I should pack up my trunk and leave now! Supposedly, it would make a lot of people much happier!"

"Hermione – Hermione, listen ter me!" Hagrid roared, louder than Hermione's own rants. She stopped quickly and blushed, muttering an apology about going too far.

"In case yeh haven't noticed," Hagrid informed her, eyeing her nervously, "I'm on yer side. An' I let Harry and Ron know that, too. Even cut their visit short when Ron moved on ter criticizing the color of yer robes. Nice purple, by the way. Tha' boy's got it in for you, Hermione," he finished, sighing.

"Oh" was the only sound Hermione could force out of her mouth. She felt extremely stupid venting at Hagrid like that when nothing was his fault and he was supporting her, anyway. Any mention of Ron sent her into a rage, whether Hagrid was the one conveying his words to her or not.

Their conversation slowly turned back to the Death Eaters and related topics. They basically repeated the same information as they had discussed earlier, with no new revelations falling through. It wasn't until towards the end of Hermione's visit that a thought occurred to her.

"Hagrid… the Death Eaters obviously believe someone can still help them dominate the wizard world and return to full power. We've caught most of the real threats, or they're either dead, haven't we?"

Hagrid frowned, shaking his head. "'Fraid not. Still a good lot o' 'em out there, roaming with nothin' but the cloaks on their backs." He began listing off the Death Eaters he knew to still be alive and not in Azkaban (Malfoy's father still being among them, and sending involuntary chills up Hermione's spine). None of them seemed capable enough.

"Hol' on, I know I'm missin' someone. Ah, yes, we never caught 'er, did we?"

"Who?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange, tha's who."

Hermione promptly departed from Hagrid's cabin two minutes later.

The sun had completely set behind the Forbidden Forest as Hermione made her way back up the sloping lawns of Hogwarts, stumbling occasionally, her mind elsewhere. She felt slightly rude running out on Hagrid like that, but she knew their meeting – as pleasant as it was to spend time with her friend – was definitely over.

So. Lestrange was still free. Hermione had never heard of her capture, though there had been countless rumors… it all faded into obscurity eventually and the thought had completely evaded her mind. But it was _her_ who the Death Eaters were after; they theorized that Bellatrix could help them return to power. And, as much as Hermione didn't want to think it, they were right. Lestrange was the only person in the entire known world that was powerful enough, however weak she was now. The same person who killed so many people Hermione cared for, including her own parents.

Hermione jumped several feet in the air at the thought; honestly, she was quite afraid. Or perhaps that was just due to the rustle in the trees to her right. It was too dark to see in through the dense forest, as there was no moon, but Hermione definitely detected a movement that wasn't caused by the wind (seeing as there was no wind, either).

She stopped cold in her tracks, the hair on her arms standing on end. An odd feeling that told her she was being closely watched sent shivers coursing throughout her body. Looking to both sides and behind her, Hermione saw no one, and focused her attention on the spot to her right again. Whatever had been there disappeared, but she couldn't shake off an awful, foreboding feeling.

"Hello?" she called uncertainly, still rooted to the spot. An owl hooted in the distance, startling her. "Erm – is someone there? Hagrid?"

There was another small, almost inconspicuous rustle that shook several leaves off a nearby bush. For a moment, Hermione thought she heard muted voices, though she couldn't detect where they were coming from; it was most likely just the wind, she told herself.

But there _was_ no wind.

"Hello?" she called out again, moving closer towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A twig snapped; she looked down to see her left foot standing on a branch and heaved a sigh of relief.

She parted the thorny branches of the trees and entered the Forest, fumbling for her wand in her pocket. She drew it out, muttered _Lumos_ as quietly as possible, and shone the light around the surrounding trees. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Something snapped in the distance and, looking down, Hermione saw her feet treading on nothing except dirt. It was clear that she was not alone. She cast her light down and discreetly began moving deeper into the forest, following remote sounds that, she convinced herself, were definitely voices.

The Forest was chilly; Hermione rubbed her arms, wishing she had her cloak with her, and also wishing she was somewhere else altogether. Sipping tea in front of Hagrid's fireplace was a very warm and inviting idea. She should have stayed just a while longer. Even sitting in the staff room, reading a nice thick book was better than playing detective in a dangerous forest engulfed in pitch black darkness – even if Harry and Ron were seated two tables over.

Something was moving behind a large tree up ahead. Slowing her pace to what felt like a toddler's crawl, Hermione stealthily moved closer, making sure to conceal herself behind a tall bush not far from the scene. Two people were conversing quietly; she strained her ears to hear their exact words.

"… late again, and making a commotion loud enough for the whole school to hear. So incompetent these days…" someone said, softly and rapidly. Hermione couldn't tell whether it was a man or woman, but the tone made her cringe nonetheless.

"I have what you asked for," said a second voice, one that Hermione felt she had heard before. It was high-pitched and rather squeaky, but the intonation was stern and mysterious.

"Good," said the first voice sharply. There was a faint noise that sounded to Hermione like parchment being passed between the two figures. Deciding to take a risk, she raised her head slightly from above the bush, chancing a glimpse of the speakers. She couldn't make out their faces – they were both hidden by the hood of their cloaks – but one was a great deal shorter than the other.

"Got the right person, then?" said the tall one, examining something in their hands. "All the information's here on her? Granger it is?"

Hermione nearly stopped breathing. For a moment, she thought they had seen her, but she was still concealed behind the bush and the two figures were not looking her way. But they had just spoken her name. As she was the only Granger left they could be conversing about, there was no doubt in her mind that they were unquestionably speaking about her.

Then with a threatening pang of anxiety, Hermione realized they were referring to the parchment the tall person held in their hands. Something about Hermione was written on it. While she had no clue whatsoever what was going on and how she was tied in, she didn't trust these two mystifying figures in the least and was prepared to take action. Whatever was written on the parchment, Hermione had to find out.

She put out the small light still emitting from her wand and racked her brain with options. Coming to a decision, she swiftly stood and pointed her wand at the two people behind the tree, shaking slightly while trying to remain fearless.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_ she shouted. The conversation ceased as the two people turned their heads to see who had shouted; the small figure was caught off guard and was thrust backwards, but the taller one ducked impulsively as half Hermione's spell hit the tree, showering her own self with sharp pieces of bark.

The smaller person, who was lying in a mangled mess in a bush, screamed loudly as their partner yelled something indecipherable in Hermione's direction. With a blinding flash of light, Hermione was knocked off her feet; she was shoved to the side and headfirst into another tree, nearly getting knocked unconscious. Groggily, she ducked behind a large trunk, holding her breath and trying to listen for the footsteps of her opponent.

Confused, Hermione heard nothing except the ragged breathing of the figure in the bush, who was obviously too frightened to move. She strained her eyes against the darkness, looking for something, anything –

The leaves above her head moved and a figure jumped down on top of her, pushing her to the ground. Struggling to take the wand firmly secured in Hermione's grip, the person pinned her against the earth, kicking her shins repeatedly. Hermione managed to roll over and jump to her legs, leaving her opponent squirming on the forest floor. She darted around a couple trees and yelled, "_STUPEFY!_" with as much energy as she had left, but the person blocked Hermione's attempt, rebounding the spell off a tree very close to Hermione's left. Running out of ideas (and hiding places), Hermione desperately dove into ditch when she heard her rival form the beginning syllables of an Unforgivable Curse.

Glancing over at the frightened person (who, she noticed, was actually a child) watching the battle in the bushes, Hermione was almost sure it was – but it couldn't be. What in the _world_ would they be doing in the Forbidden Forest, associating with clearly Dark Wizards like the one Hermione had torn her attention away from?

She realized her mistake of becoming distracted all too late; someone hit her ruthlessly over the head with a very heavy object, causing her vision to instantaneously become hazy. Her head pounded with pain as she fought to keep conscious… was she hallucinating, or were more figures appearing on the scene? An indistinct person was coming near her, ready to strike again… but, no, they were recoiling… something was driving them back, and they were disappearing into the forest. There were more screams, either from a human being or from inside her own mind… someone else came into her view, but before Hermione could make out who it was, the pain won her over and her vision went entirely blank.

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**Author's Notes, Edition Two:** I really like adding notes at the end of the story. Makes it a good deal longer, really.

So! A cliffhanger! It didn't originally start out that way; I had planned to write some more, er, stuff that would be important to the plot, but then this chapter would've ended up near fifteen pages on Word again. So, next chapter, I promise. =)


	10. Amending Friendships

**Author's Notes:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter; FFDDD was _not_ setting in, I was just having a small case of writer's block. I've had ideas bouncing around my head for so long that I believe I got rather stuck a few times in this chapter when the ideas disappeared. I've also taken up re-reading GOF and OOTP again at nighttime, which is when I usually work on my writing. So here's chapter nine to keep you all busy.

**CrimsonEnchantress:** To answer the question in your review, Hermione didn't mean anything special or secretive by her response to Desdemona's comment. She was referring to Snape, for instance, and how he frightened most his pupils.

**Siriusly Disturbed:** Thank you very much for pushing me to write this chapter! Yes, I _know_ you know the plot and no one does, but that is because you are the beta-reader, remember? Ghostly Outcomes (your story) is coming along quite nicely and deserves many more reviews, so good luck on that. =)

**Nymbis of the Underworld:** Yes, I quite like Theo and Mallory, too! I'm very glad you agree! I've wanted to kick Harry also, but I think it's time he becomes a bit nicer. Never read Spiderman comics.

No crazy antics to get you to review this time. Just do it.

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**CHAPTER NINE – AMENDING FRIENDSHIPS**

When Hermione dazedly opened her eyes, she winced against the bright sunlight pouring in through the windows. Her head felt dreadfully heavy and was throbbing in pain. At first, she couldn't understand where she was or why – the oddly shaped figures located to her side suggested she was in some sort of bedroom – but when her eyes began to focus, memories of the night before came rushing back. The visit to Hagrid's… the people in the forest… the fight… the parchment… Then she realized she was in the Hospital wing and bolted up in bed, causing someone at her side to gasp.

"Hermione?" the person asked, looking taken aback but relieved all the same. It was the first word he had spoken to her – in six years, actually.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Hermione was thoroughly confused. She was alone in the Hospital wing with _Harry_, of all people. Harry, who had taken up hating her for so many years because she hadn't supported him, but yet here he was, standing at her bedside, his eyebrows knitted together in that very old worried look Hermione remembered so well. Then Hagrid's words from their meeting the previous night came flooding back… _"He started sayin' he misses the way yeh'd scold him for cheatin' on his homework. Havin' himself a bit of nostalgia, I think."_ Still, Hermione didn't know whether to rejoice that he was talking to her or hit him – she was slightly hurt that it took a near-death experience to get him to say something. In the end, she just decided to put aside thinking altogether, as it caused a rather large amount of pain in her head.

"I'm making sure you're all right," Harry replied seriously. Hermione studied his face, but it remained absolutely devoid of expression. "How do you feel?"

"My head hurts something awful," she muttered truthfully, touching it tenderly and noticing a considerably large bump. Her hands felt oddly numb, and glancing down, she realized they had been wrapped tightly in bandages.

"It should," said Harry, still not showing an ounce of emotion. "You were hit over the head with a small boulder. You're lucky your skull didn't crack." His eyes wandered over to an orange bottle sitting on Hermione's bed. He picked it up and shoved it in her hands. "Pomfrey wants you to drink that. She's up in McGonagall's office, discussing some… things. Drink it," he added, seeing her reluctant countenance.

Madam Pomfrey's tonics were known to be rather repulsive, so Hermione pinched her nose and tipped the bottle into her mouth, downing the entire thing in a few gulps. The liquid was thick and scratched her throat; she resisted a strong urge to cough, saving Harry from getting showered in orange goop.

There was an awkward silence for several minutes in which neither Hermione nor Harry knew what to say. Harry became very interested in the lamp on the bedside table as Hermione racked her brain; she was very curious as to what happened in the forest after she passed out, who the people were, and what they were doing in the first place, but she also didn't want to say anything that would set Harry off.

"Where's –?"

"You were –"

They had spoken at exactly the same time but quickly cut off, Hermione making a deliberate attempt to avoid Harry's eyes. Her feeble effort at making conversation could wait; it was clear that whatever Harry had to say was more important.

"No, I'm sorry, go ahead."

Harry hesitated for a moment as if wondering if he should continue or not. He drew a long, slow breath before speaking. "Last night – you were doing a pretty good job of holding your offender off, you know. But it was lucky we found you when we did… your face was all scratched and your arm kind of stuck out at an odd angle, I thought it was broken, and then you got were knocked out by that rock –"

"Who was there? And how'd you find me?" Hermione asked quickly, not meaning to interrupt but thoroughly curious all the same.

"Hagrid was coming up to the school after you left his cabin and heard shouts when he got to the doors, so he ran inside, looking for the first person who could help him. He found Ron and me in the staff room along with McGonagall, that Astronomy teacher, Bella, Ginny, and Desdemona. He led us out onto the grounds… wasn't hard to follow the yells, really… but by the time we'd arrived, whoever you were fighting against had fled."

Hermione's heart sank. She was truly hoping the person had gotten caught. Harry was supposed to be a top Auror, anyway. "So you didn't see them at all, then? Not even their face?"

"No idea who it was," Harry answered flatly, looking rather disappointed himself.

"There were two people," Hermione said suddenly, quickly remembering. "The tall one who attacked me, and then a shorter one, who fell into the bushes – I think it was a child, but I couldn't see –"

Grimly, Harry pointed to a bed on Hermione's left, a few down from her own, where a small lump was visible under the sheets. It appeared that they weren't the only ones in the Hospital wing after all.

"It was a student," Harry explained as if he didn't believe his own words. "She passed out cold as soon as we arrived but we managed to revive her a few hours later. The situation's almost unthinkable… everyone was baffled… still are, really."

"Who is it?" Hermione asked seriously.

Harry frowned a moment, trying to recollect her name. "Ron mentioned her yesterday. Said she was in your Transfiguration class. Mallory something."

Hermione's stomach completely dissolved, leaving an empty nothingness. She couldn't believe it. There was no way it could have been Mallory, the young student who, so bright and perceptive, reminded Hermione so much of herself at that age.

Then she remembered how the girl's voice had sounded in the Forest… it had definitely been familiar, and Hermione could now match the voice with the only person she knew it could have come from…

"That's impossible," Hermione muttered breathlessly. "She never would have done that, I doubt _any_ of the students would have. Do you think this is one of the odd occurrences everyone's been talking about?"

Harry only nodded his head, a grave look upon his face.

Another thought dawned on Hermione. It seemed as if her brain was clearing now and memories of the night before were coming faster. "They had a piece of parchment or something that they were referring to. I didn't understand what it was, exactly. But they were talking about _me_. I very distinctly heard my name, and I don't know why…"

She trailed off when she noticed Harry's expression become even more solemn, if it were possible. "Yeah, they were talking about you because… Mallory had stolen your records from McGonagall's office – you know, tabs kept on all the staff members," he added when Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "She was supposedly giving them to the person she was meeting, though I dunno why anyone would want them. It's not like you've got horribly dangerous enemies around the world, do you?"

"Actually, yes," Hermione answered rather proudly. Of course, one should never be proud of having foes who want you dead, but at least it was a mark of how successful she was at her job.

Harry shrugged. "They didn't get the paper, so don't worry. And the odd thing is," he said, lowering his voice even though Hermione was the only person who could hear him, "the child didn't have a clue what she had done when she woke up. Seemed very surprised to be lying in the hospital wing, and even more surprised when Ron accused her of stealing, fraternizing with Dark Wizards, and sneaking into the Forbidden Forest after hours."

"Of course, Hermione murmured more to herself than Harry. "In all the incidents, it's been reported that the students have woken from a sort of daze afterwards with no memory of what they'd done. She wasn't punished, was she?"

"Got a detention and a few days' worth of staying up here," Harry said rather indifferently. "Everyone seemed to think she was a bit of a nutcase, Ron in particular." He either didn't notice the scowl on Hermione's face or chose to ignore it."

"I don't think it was her fault. But why would anyone want my _records_?"

Harry shrugged again. "Your guess is as good as mine."

It didn't make sense to Hermione – but then again, nothing lately had made any sense whatsoever. Thinking hard only intensified the pounding in her head, so she decided to put it off till later. She normally wasn't a procrastinator, but there were more important issues at hand, ones that had absolutely nothing to do with dodgy wizards in dark forests.

The two of them lapsed into silence, Harry sinking into the chair beside Hermione's bed. She was going to ask where the rest of the teachers were – most likely in the staff room or teaching, no doubt, and even though she _did_ want to speak with Ginny, it would've proved to be tedious conversation, anyway.

Hermione desperately wished for Madam Pomfrey to come bustling through the door or something, _anything _to break the uncomfortable silence that was hanging around the room like an ominous storm cloud. She had nothing more to say to Harry but was rather lonely and didn't want the only company available to leave.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quite suddenly, startling Hermione. He wasn't looking at her but looking down at the ground with the first emotion Hermione had seen on his face – a look that suggested he truly was sorry.

"You – what?" she asked, unable to find the right words to voice her astonishment.

"I never should've gotten mad at you," he continued honestly. "I should've understood, and it's my fault… I should've started talking to you again when Ron and I made up."

"We never should have stopped talking in the first place," Hermione replied a bit more coldly than she had intended to.

"I can't believe it's been six years," said Harry in a very strangled sort of voice. He seemed unable to believe his own words again. "It was too long. You don't know how hard it was… whenever you were mentioned, Ron got all tense and rigid and wouldn't talk again until the subject was changed. I guess I just got accustomed to doing the same."

Hermione was utterly flabbergasted. So it _did_ take a near-death experience for Harry to finally come to his senses and apologize. True, she had fantasized more than once about the three of them being a trio of friends again, walking down the lawns of Hogwarts together, laughing… but here, now? In the hospital wing after a night and morning of intense and confusing revelations? With her head pounding like someone was using it as a drum? Hermione didn't know whether to smack Harry – the urge was very tempting – or brush it aside as a cruel joke. He didn't really want to apologize or he would've done it years ago. It was obvious he valued other things far more than their friendship – if there even was a friendship between then anymore. _Harry's only saying this to be polite_, Hermione convinced herself. _Just so McGonagall will get off our backs about neglecting our duties. He doesn't mean it_.

Harry was shifting his feet nervously, and, Hermione noticed, blushing slightly. "I understand if you'd rather – if you don't want to, you know, make up," he mumbled, barely moving his lips.

There was nothing Hermione could say. The throbbing pain inside her head had stopped and was replaced by a feeling of dizziness. Harry was still avoiding her gaze, apologizing to the infirmary floor instead, but Hermione didn't care. She kept quiet and let him keep talking; for once, she was interested in what he had to say.

"It was awful," he muttered quietly, twisting his hands in his lap. Hermione was puzzled – she really had no idea _what_ exactly was awful, until Harry continued speaking.

"All alone, up against Voldemort… everyone backed down or was too busy fighting off some other Dark Wizard… even Dumbledore had left to hold off the Lestranges" – Hermione clenched her teeth at the mention of Bellatrix – "and I was assuming you and Ron would be there to help. But no one came. I thought it was finally the end and it was all going to be over… I'd done it before, you know, fought him, though it was different this time. He was more powerful. And then… I don't know how it happened, or what I did, but… I won. And I'm not saying I wasn't scared, because I was. I just – it would've been more reassuring to have you and Ron there…" He trailed off lamely, shrugging again, still directing his stare downwards.

Hermione felt like someone had thrown her against a wall. Her head was spinning from too many confessions in too short of a time. She had to admit, she wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to make up, exactly… when she considered all of the facts at the same time, there really was no reason on earth she should accept Harry's apology. It was his entire fault, anyway.

Or was it?

Perhaps Hermione played a bigger role in the break-up of their friendship than she had realized. Pretending Ron was nonexistent for the time being, she looked at the situation from Harry's point of view and realized there was much more to consider than she had apprehended. In all truth, she would have felt pretty betrayed herself, had Harry done what she had done (still pretending Ron was nothing more than an imaginary ex-acquaintance).

"Harry, I – I never thought about it," Hermione mumbled. "I was just… scared, I guess. I was never as brave as you were at that sort of thing. I know it's a little late for this now, but… I'm sorry, too," she finally said, feeling immediately much lighter, as if the words had lifted a heavy burden off her shoulders.

It was like some strange reality twist, Hermione thought, apologizing to Harry for something that occurred six years ago in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. She half expected Harry to explode in saying, "This is stupid, what are we doing?" It didn't seem like this would _ever_ happen… after six years of wondering and waiting, Hermione was beginning to loose all hope.

And then, for the first time since Hermione's own schooldays, Harry broke into a big, genuine grin – not a scowl, not a glare, but an actual _grin_ that was directed at her. He didn't need words to describe his euphoria, and she didn't either. Her smile was so wide she was beginning to think her mouth was going numb.

"I'd hug you or something," said Harry, "but I'm sure you're already in enough pain."

Hermione responded with yet another grin.

Transfiguration classes resumed the follow morning once the professor was no longer indisposed. In unnaturally high spirits, Hermione was quite eager to return to teaching and wasn't in the mood for a proper lesson. Instead, she allowed the students to partner up and practice Cross-Species Switches for the entire hour and a half, much to their ecstasy.

"Is Mallory still in the Hospital wing, professor?" squeaked tiny Laura Snippet halfway through Hermione's last afternoon class.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, fiddling with her quill. The poor girl did indeed remain in the infirmary, utterly disturbed and most likely still in a state of shock. Hermione knew that the mandatory questionings had taken place that morning; she herself had seen the Minister of Magic, Marshall Dempsey, and several other Ministry officials enter the Hospital wing to interrogate Mallory about the events of the night before last.

"Will she be returning soon?"

"I don't know when she'll be returning, exactly," Hermione replied quietly.

"Well, I for one am glad I don't have someone breathing down my neck anymore," Theodore announced loudly, flipping to the back of his book where Hermione caught sight of the words _ADVANCED HUMAN TRANSFORMATIONS_ at the top of the page_._ His partner was looking rather uneasy. "She'd have a cow if she knew how much homework I've been putting off lately."

"Mr. Lloyd, we are only practicing on the gerbils today," said Hermione pointedly. "You may not turn Higsby into a Chimaera, so I must ask you to kindly skip that chapter." Looking rather put out, Theo closed his book and pretended not to notice his partner's sigh of relief.

"And may I remind you that your essay on ways to avoid beheading phoenixes during species conversion is due tomorrow. I would not suggest procrastinating until the last minute."

Theo muttered several words under his breath which sounded oddly like something that would give him a week's worth of detentions, but the bell rang, giving Hermione no opportunity to do so. The class filed out of the room and headed towards dinner. After packing up the gerbils into their cages and organizing her desk one last time, Hermione followed suit, quite hungry herself.

She entered the exuberantly noisy Great Hall and cheerily walked up to the long staff table, nodding to several students along the way. Ginny was waving her over towards an empty seat between her and Harry, and Hermione accepted it graciously, smiling widely at Harry while sitting down. She couldn't help it; after their little reunion in the hospital wing, she was completely overjoyed at the thought of having her best friend back. It was as if the past six years had never happened, which was a perfectly fine way to keep it, of course. Still, Hermione couldn't ignore the obligatory glare from Ron as she spooned a heap of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"How were your classes today? Feeling all right?" Ginny asked, eyeing Hermione nervously. She nodded absently and watched as Ron leaned over to whisper something in Harry's ear; Harry twisted his head around and hissed something indecipherable at Ron, who shrugged and picked up his fork, twirling it around on his plate. Harry chanced a glance at Hermione and smiled weakly, but she wasn't fooled; Ron had once again been asking Harry about his newfound friendship with Hermione. Every time she had stopped in the staff room for a cup of coffee between classes, she noticed Ron whispering to Harry and staring pointedly at Hermione all the while. It was clear Ron was confused and, possibly, jealous that Hermione and Harry had made up…and Hermione decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

"So, Harry," she began conversationally. "Heard you just got back from Africa."

Harry perked up a considerable amount at these words. "Yeah," he replied with much enthusiasm. "Two ancient wizard tribes started up a fire fight right in the heart of a Muggle village over a herd of Nundus or something – don't know what they were doing with illegal possession of them in the first place. Ron and I were called down to put a stop to it but things didn't, erm, turn out the way we had hoped."

Even after just a couple sentences, the entire table was hooked on Harry's every word. It was obvious the staff _loved_ his adventure tales (much more than Ron's, at any rate – Ron often exaggerated his to unbelievable extents that always ended in a near-death experience).

Dramatically taking a swig of pumpkin juice, Harry continued. "Turns out the Nundus weren't properly tied up and about a dozen of them got loose and trampled the village. Half the Muggles living there were either crushed or they died of fright. The two tribes got in a lot of trouble with the African Ministry of Magic, so in the end, we had to step in and play witness to the event during the trials. A real mess over a whole lot of nothing," Harry added dismally to several nods of agreement from his co-workers.

"What about the Nundus?" Hermione asked, quite interested. "They were caught and tamed, right?"

Harry shook his head. "Ended up in Egypt, and who knows how. Obviously barged in on a big pyramid show or something. Extra recruits were sent to help; we had to put half the country under Memory Charms. Then we had to round up the Nundus, send them to a camp somewhere in the Sahara Desert, and travel back to Morocco to settle the dispute between the two tribes and bring them in for questioning on how they acquired the illegal beasts in the beginning. After that was done, we had to repair the destroyed Muggle homes in the village before they all woke up from the spells they were under and realized their houses were suddenly missing." Harry took a big breath upon finishing with a look upon his face that clearly said he was glad that adventure was over with.

"Harry, tell us about the time you and Ron tracked down that Dark Wizard posing as a goblin and you had to chase him into a mine before catching him single-handedly!" Ginny squealed, her eyes lighting up in the girlish way Hermione remembered from their childhood days.

Before anyone knew it, Harry was off again, spinning another spectacular tale from one of his dangerous escapades. Hermione could not help it; along with the rest of the table, it was as if Harry hoodwinked them into hanging onto his every word. She couldn't ever remember a dinner filled with such anticipation of what was to come next.

Ron, however, was looking surlier by the minute. He didn't laugh, clap, or shout along with the other professors at different intervals in Harry's stories. Instead, he smashed his peas into a rather repulsive looking mush, glaring at his drinking goblet all the while. Apparently, he did not appreciate being left out of telling the stories that made everyone admire Harry so.

"… and Courtney, this girl I was dating at the time who later tried to kill me, had to come bail me out. What a nightmare. You can't Apparate or Disapparate in places like those, so I had no way of escaping."

The table looked slightly disappointed when Harry concluded the end of his exploits for the night, but they were satisfied nonetheless. Hermione herself had to admit it had been a rather enjoyable meal.

"Harry," Ginny began casually, but Hermione could notice the certain air of trepidation in her voice. "It doesn't seem like you and Ron have had a lot of time for, er – relationships, what with traveling around the world like you do. Are you seeing anyone?"

The table fell silent, Desdemona stifling a small giggle. Ron promptly dropped his fork with a _clang_.

Thankfully, Harry laughed. "Not right now," he answered nonchalantly. Ginny loosened up a bit. "After Courtney, I've been rather afraid that they'll all turn out to be Death Eaters or something." He smiled widely at Ron and gave him a noticeable wink.

"I'm going to bed," Ron muttered quickly, pushing away his battle field of a dinner plate and standing up. "Night, Harry." Hermione watched him leave the Great Hall, not even bothering to give her his customary glare. Harry didn't seem to notice anything; he himself was pushing back his plate (which was rather empty, considering how much time he had spent talking).

"Think I will too," he said, calling goodnight down the table. "Bye, Hermione," he added, grinning again. Hermione beamed back with less enthusiasm than usual; something about Ron's lack of glowering had perturbed her.

"Hermione," Ginny's voice called, bringing her back to her senses. "There's another Hogsmeade visit next weekend. Care to go? I'm sure more chaperones are needed."

"Right," said Hermione offhandedly. "Chaperones. Of course I'll go. It'd be a nice opportunity to do some Christmas shopping."

And with the prospect of visiting Hogsmeade stuck in her mind, Hermione ambled off to bed, her high spirits still lingering all the same.


	11. A Day in Hogsmeade

**Author's Notes:** Another long chapter. Eight pages in Word. =) I don't know how in the world I can manage so many pages about a _Hogsmeade visit_… but I did it, so I'm not complaining.

All right, so I'm thinking of starting my own mailing list for BCD. I know some of you have me on Author Alerts or whatever that fancy thing's called, but you know mailings lists are more fun. If you want to be on the official BEHIND CLOSED DOORS MAILING LIST (sponsored by the FFDDD Association of America) then leave your e-mail address in a review. I'll send out an e-mail notifying you of new chapters after I post them.

**Siriusly Disturbed:** I'm ashamed. You're my beta, and you asked me to openly advertise your story (which is very good) here, and I did it too subtly. So here it is. If you want any future chapters, then go read Ghostly Outcomes by Siriusly Disturbed and review. It's just beginning, but I know what the plot is, so I know that it's going to turn out quite nicely. And don't ask for any more Courtney appearances because you're not getting any.

**CrimsonEnchantress:** You always leave the nicest reviews. Yes, I'll go read your stories, of course! Oh, I only wish that this was a completed novel, but unfortunately, JK Rowling copyrighted Harry Potter. So I'll have to settle for the internet.

**Dragonbrat:** I would suggest following this story here instead of FictionAlley since I am many chapters ahead here. Your words of encouragement made me so happy – I too hope that someday my writing abilities will grow beyond writing fan fictions, but I'm only fourteen, so I have plenty of time to grow. Thanks again!

**Moonypadfoot:** Personally, I'm rather fond of the fighting Hermione and Ron, so I don't want them to make up yet, either. Glad you share the same views.

Oh, and if you haven't noticed, I've fixed the chapters, making the prologue chapter one and so on. Having a number (4) next to chapter five irked me something awful.

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**CHAPTER ELEVEN – A DAY IN HOGSMEADE**

The days flew by at Hogwarts and before Hermione knew it, the weekend of the Hogsmeade visit had arrived. Mallory had returned to classes the past Thursday, looking timid and jumping whenever spoken to. The staff had been warned to keep a close eye on her, mainly to keep her sane, as no one honestly believed Mallory had been acting of her own accord that night in the Forest. Ron was careful to keep his chatter with Harry to a bare minimum at meal times now; Harry quite liked the idea of entertaining his co-workers with his adventure tales, and it had become a regular thing to look forward to. Hermione highly suspected Ron was rather jealous and thought perhaps he would begin ignoring Harry as well, but she still spotted them together in the halls, laughing their heads off. Some things obviously never changed.

On a bright and snowy Saturday morning, Hermione left Hogwarts castle with Ginny at her side, both eager to get to the village of Hogsmeade. Ginny had been reminded innumerable times by her friend that their main purpose was to act as chaperones – too many Butterbeers could have awful side-effects, as Ginny so eloquently pointed out.

The two professors entered the iced village amid flocks of energetic students and Hermione absolutely beamed. It had been so long since she had laid eyes on the village; the different-sized shops all glistening under a fresh coat of snow suggested that they had walked in on some sort of fantasy winter wonderland. The chaos on the streets strongly reminded Hermione of the chaos found in Muggle cities at Christmas time. It was like a billowing black sea; robe-clad students pushed past one another with towering boxes of gifts wobbling in their arms and pockets bulging with sweets and jokes. Tiny little third-years popped in and out of the shops, shouting at the top of their lungs and pointing wildly, their breath rising in clouds of mist in front of their faces. Older students who had clearly visited the village so often that some of the effect had worn off sauntered along the lane, lazily chattering and occasionally popping a sweet in their mouths. In the shadows outside the Quidditch shop, Hermione caught a glimpse of Theodore Lloyd and a fellow Gryffindor conversing quietly while marveling at something under their cloaks. Hermione had half a mind to find out what the two boys were up to but decided it would be best to give them a small holiday break.

Someone collided with Hermione and jostled her to the side. She found herself looking down upon a frazzled Mallory Beldam, who was apologizing consecutively for disturbing Hermione.

"No, I'm okay," Hermione insisted. She studied the young girl; there were deep circles under her eyes that suggested she was indeed ill, or perhaps just stressed. She was sure that the incident Mallory had suffered from had taken a toll on her. The girl looked not a day older than fourteen… her childlike face shouldn't have had such a weary, drained expression.

"Miss Beldam, are you quite all right?" Hermione asked.

Mallory frantically nodded her head, glancing to her right and left as if suspecting someone to attack her any moment. "Yes, yes. Just – so much schoolwork to do, thought I'd give myself a little break, but I've got heaps left to finish before the end of the semester and I _really_ think I should've stayed back –"

Hermione could have laughed. Mallory was practically a mirror image of herself ten years ago. But looking closer at the girl, Hermione realized schoolwork really wasn't the excuse.

"You _do_ deserve a break," said Hermione wisely. "I know you've been working hard. McGonagall should have told you to lay off homework for a week, but you're very persistent."

Mallory blushed. "Thank you, professor," she mumbled. "I've really got to dash – not staying long, just looking for Laura so we can send an owl, and then I've got to get back… sorry again." She dashed away down the swarming street and soon became another blur in the crowd.

Ginny looked dejectedly after her. "Poor girl. She's such a wreck in Muggle Studies."

"Ginny, there's something honestly wrong with her," Hermione said. "It's like she knows something the rest of us don't. I wonder what all went on that night…"

"Hermione," Ginny said fiercely. "Stop it. You're here to enjoy yourself, just don't think about all that." She broke into a wide grin at the shocked face of her friend, and soon the two girls were laughing and merrily moving into the massive throng of students, all worries forgotten.

About an hour later Hermione and Ginny dropped onto a bench outside the Three Broomsticks. Guiltily, Hermione's pockets were stuffed with sweets that Ginny nearly blackmailed her into buying. She was never much of a candy person; her parents were against all food that had negative effects on the teeth, as they had been dentists, but with a painful twinge somewhere in her chest, Hermione brushed the thought aside. She had felt out of sorts when they entered Honeydukes; they easily towered over the crowd of students and were the only adults to be seen aside from the ones working the front counter. Still, it had been rather nice gazing endlessly at the walls of assorted candies – after all, it had been six years since Hermione had such an opportunity to stuff herself with such delicious sweets.

"You know," Hermione remarked, "we haven't been doing a very good job of watching the students, and that was our first priority here. That lot down there could be smuggling out dragon eggs for all we know."

"Quite right," said Ginny. She turned her head towards two sixth years that were leaning in the shadows, clearly thinking they were unnoticed. "Hey, you two! You can't exactly be eating sweets doing that! Get yourself into Honeydukes before I permanently seal your mouths!" Satisfied at watching the two students recklessly dart down the street, Ginny leaned back and smiled contentedly. Hermione goggled at her. It was times like these when Ginny strongly reminded her of Ron, but Ron was miles away up at the castle and had no right to invade her thoughts.

Coming back to her senses, Hermione noticed Ginny had jumped up and was pointing across the lane. A large figure could easily be seen over the heads of the students, and after several booming hellos to a group near his right, Hermione realized it was Hagrid. Decked out in his moleskin overcoat and dragging what looked to be a heavy bag along the ground, he made his way over to the two young professors, smiling.

"Fancy seein' you two 'ere!" he said, lowering himself onto the bench. It gave an almighty groan and sank a good two feet under his weight and was about to give in entirely until Hagrid thought otherwise and decided to remain standing instead.

"Hello, Hagrid!" Ginny said. "Doing a bit of Christmas shopping?"

_Christmas shopping, right_, Hermione found herself thinking. The bag Hagrid was dragging looked oddly suspicious to her; he was doing Christmas shopping as much as she was polka dancing in the middle of the street.

Hagrid ignored Ginny's inquiry. "Care fer a Butterbeer? 'S on me," he added, winking.

Hermione and Ginny agreed and followed their friend into the Three Broomsticks. They got a table in the front near a window ("We need to monitor the students, Ginny, we can't very well do that in the back!" Hermione explained sharply) and waited for Hagrid, who had gone to get three drinks.

When all three were settled in, Hermione sipping her butterbeer while keeping and eye on the rowdy flock of students running up the street, Hagrid grew very quiet, completely ignoring his own tankard. Hermione looked around to find him staring almost expectantly at her and gave a little jump, slightly startled.

"All righ', Hermione?" he asked in a low voice that no longer held its previous merriment.

Hermione suspected she knew what he was talking about. She hadn't seen Hagrid since her accident in the Forest and should have known he would be concerned. Students and fellow staff members alike still gave her odd stares in the corridors and in the Great Hall. Every time, Hermione was thoroughly agitated.

"Yes, I'm fine," she responded in what she hoped was a strong, solid voice.

"Yer lucky," said Hagrid, taking a swig from his tankard which, Hermione noticed, was about five times larger than her own. "Coulda been killed, yeh know. Didn't know what yeh was dealin' with in there. Dark wizards still on the loose…" he trailed off falteringly and averted his eyes downward.

"I'm fine," Hermione repeated loudly, her voice rising dangerously. She was beginning to grow somewhat annoyed at the fact that everyone was treating her like some child, not the fully grown adult that she was. She had managed to fight off the other person without being killed, right? They did escape, of course, but she couldn't have exactly prevented that; she wasn't an Auror, and Harry had arrived on the scene too late.

"Hagrid," Ginny piped up, her voice quite small. "Who do you think it was?"

An ominous silence fell around the table. Hermione herself had repeated this same question countless times in her mind, never able to come up with an answer. There were names, of course; people who were never killed or never imprisoned in Azkaban, but there were too many, and someone would've shown up for a _reason_ – they had wanted Hermione's records, after all. As perplexing and apparently meaningless as it seemed, she was sure there was a reason hidden amongst all the miniscule clues.

"… confused," Ginny was saying. "Perhaps it was only a lunatic that had gotten lost, you know? Could've just been wandering the forests from a nearby insane asylum or something…"

But Hermione shook her head immediately. "No, no, they were perfectly sane, I heard them. And they weren't a Muggle; they were _definitely_ a witch or wizard. They wanted my records, remember? We're missing something here," she finished quietly, studying the woodwork absentmindedly on the table.

None of them spoke for several long minutes, all too deeply absorbed in their own thoughts to form a coherent sentence. Breaking the silence, the door opened, and Ginny beckoned someone over to their table.

An olive-skinned woman with sweeping, chocolate brown joined their table, smirking peculiarly. It was Bella Levrero, the mysterious Astronomy professor. Hermione hadn't said more than five words to this woman in the short time she had known her, and vice-versa. She seemed like a person that she wouldn't have much in common with.

"Hi, Bella," Ginny said politely, pulling a chair towards their table. Bella graciously nodded her head and took a seat. Hagrid grunted in what he thought was a suitable hello, but Hermione had a strange feeling that he was none too fond of this woman.

"Granger, right?" Bella asked Hermione. Her voice was quite beautiful, Hermione noted. The slight twang of an accent added an unfathomable sense of mystery to it.

"Yes, hello," Hermione responded, smiling. She couldn't form stereotypical assumptions about this stranger; she barely knew her. She could be the world's most loveable witch for all she knew.

"You okay after that night in the Forest?" Bella asked courteously. Hermione was rather taken aback. She hadn't suspected Bella to make much conversation with her, least of all about this.

"Yes, thank you. A bit disturbing, you know, but I'm fine," she said for the third time in the last ten minutes.

"It's curious," the mysterious professor continued, not speaking to anyone in particular. "But I don't think its coincidence. Students are behaving unnaturally and then a dangerous person turns up after dark, wanting a newcomer's information, and luring an actual student into their midst? Then they flee, and Merlin knows where they've gone. Could still be lurking around, even." Her eyes fell upon Hermione. "Surely you have some idea as to who it was? I heard you're quite brilliant."

Hermione blushed noticeably. "It was unexpected," she said. "The attack, I mean. And no, I haven't… worked it all out yet. It's quite a mystery. We're thinking that it was definitely a Dark wizard, not just a random lunatic."

Bella nodded. "I fear for the students," she said gravelly, lowering her voice and glancing at the knot of seventh years laughing boisterously behind them. She adapted a rather mystifying tone of voice that reminded Hermione of her former Divination professor from her early years at Hogwarts and nearly whispered, "There is nothing written in the stars about these occurrences, nothing at all. I have been watching, believe me. They are as unexpected as pulling a dragon out of a Niffler hole. The Ministry may begin to interfere if we can't put a stop to them soon."

"The Ministry _is_ interfering," Ginny said quickly. "I mean, that's why Harry and Ron are here, isn't it? The Ministry sent them. And you," she added, nodding at Hermione.

Bella's eyes once again wandered over to Hermione at these words, gazing at her inexplicably with glossed eyes. "Right," she said softly. Slightly disconcerted, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She really wished Bella would look elsewhere.

Ginny and Hagrid didn't seem to notice. "But the students donno what the three of yeh is doin' here, really," Hermione found Hagrid saying in what he thought was a quiet voice. Ginny slapped his arm and shushed him quickly, glaring at the seventh years who had become highly interested in their conversation. "They jus' think yer teaching, Hermione. Harry an' Ron are supposed ter be Ministry representatives fer a new division. 'Course, they might as well say they're both gnomes fer all the good it does," he added, dumping the rest of this tankard into his mouth. "Everyone knows Harry's a world-famous Auror an' Ron –"

"Can we talk about something else?" Hermione interjected heatedly. Hagrid stopped mid-sentence, staring at her in surprise. She didn't mean to interrupt so rudely, but why did their conversation always turn back to Harry and Ron? Why, for once, couldn't they pretend that the two of them were nonexistent?

Hermione mentally slapped herself for being so selfish. _Harry's your friend,_ a rational voice told her. _Remember? You can't stop people from talking about him, can you? And why should you care?_

_Because Ron's name always comes along with Harry's,_ an angrier voice challenged. Hermione thoroughly agreed with the second one.

When she found Ginny and Bella both staring at her along with Hagrid, Ginny's mouth slightly open, Hermione shooed the two voices away and regained her composure. "It isn't very smart to be talking about this here," she hissed quietly. "Anyone could overhear, and I'm not talking about just the students."

The three nodded in agreement and converted the subject onto the upcoming Quidditch match – Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Forgetting her preceding rashness, Hermione became quite excited; she hadn't attended a proper Quidditch match in ages. The inter-House rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor would, no doubt, prove to turn out an interesting match.

"Christoph's good for a Slytherin, of course, but he's nothing compared to Kinsey," Ginny said. Being the Head of Gryffindor House, she was known to support her team perhaps a bit more than necessary.

"Don't let Desdemona hear you saying that," Bella muttered. "She's all for equality amongst the different Houses, you know, but she'd hex you in a minute if she knew you were insulting her Quidditch team."

Hermione was slightly shocked. Desdemona King was Head of Slytherin? She should have guessed it, of course; she did teach Potions, after all. She was perfectly friendly, though, and one would have never known that Desdemona supported Slytherins. Hermione's surprised countenance was noticed by Ginny, who chuckled.

"She's joking," Ginny reassured Hermione. "Des wouldn't do that, she isn't sinister enough. I don't think she likes being Head of Slytherin much, but McGonagall couldn't get anyone else to do it, and Desdemona was told she'd get a pay raise if she volunteered."

"Yeah, Desdemona's all righ'," Hagrid agreed, slapping his hand against the table and sending Hermione and Ginny's empty Butterbeer jugs flying (perhaps his tankard _had_ been a tad too big). "Glad she came ter replace that ol' bloke, Prock, or whatever his name was. Scared me a bit, ter be honest."

"Jules, Gryffindor's newest Chaser, you know which one I mean, the fourth year? She just got a Nimbus 2001 for her birthday last week. Can't wait to see the look on Desdemona's face at that," Ginny said, grinning with satisfaction.

"Yes, but the Slytherins _all_ have Nimbuses," remarked Bella. "Half of Gryffindor's still riding around on Cleansweeps. Though they aren't _bad_ Cleansweeps… Gryffindor's managed to stay at the top of the league for the past two years, haven't they?"

"No," Hagrid corrected thickly, furrowing his brow. "Ravenclaw beat 'em out that one year, 'member? 'Cause Gryffindor's Keeper was injured, he broke 'is arm –"

The rest of the hour turned out to be rather enjoyable. Hermione listened in interest as Ginny and Bella got into an argument over which broom rode smoother, the Cleansweep or the Nimbus, and Hermione, who preferred to stay away from broomsticks altogether, decided not to interfere. Ginny turned out to be quite the fanatic about Quidditch, more so than Hermione had known. When a passing fifth year who, upon hearing Bella's comment about Gryffindor being a more organized team, commented that it was Ravenclaw whose tactics were more structured, Ginny assigned him detention on the spot.

Leaving the pub alongside Ginny some time later, Hermione was grinning. Her visit to Hogsmeade had indeed turned out to be quite pleasant. She no longer thought of Bella as a mysterious stranger; on the contrary, Bella was very open and sociable and congratulated Hermione on winning the Most Valuable Witch award the previous December. Any person who brought up Hermione's success automatically earned themselves a spot on her Christmas list.

It was nearly dinner time and the sun was beginning to set behind the castle in the distance when Hermione remembered she still had to buy Ginny a small gift. The streets were beginning to empty as the students made their way back up to the school, moaning from stuffing their mouths with endless sweets.

"I just thought of something I still need to do," Hermione explained to Ginny quickly. "You can go back on up to the school if you want, I'll just be a minute."

"No, I'll stay," Ginny said, barely concealing a small grin. "I'll wait down there at the end of the road. Do hurry, though, my toes are getting rather frozen."

Hermione nodded and waved good-bye as she watched Ginny's retreating back; then, making sure she wasn't going to turn her head, Hermione dashed into Hickory's Emporium, the bookshop. Of course, Hickory's was the sort of place Hermione would love to receive a present from, and she wasn't all that sure what Ginny would fancy most, but she was pressed on time, so something would have to make do.

Hickory's was amazing. It was a newer addition to Hogsmeade (Hermione didn't remember it from her own schooldays) and looked positively marvelous. A two-storied shop, Hickory's was home to books of all genres, enchanted quills, talking bookmarks, planners that reminded you of upcoming appointments every hour, and much more. The young professor could've gazed at the shop for hours on end, but then she remembered Ginny was waiting outside and it was nearly supper time, so she tore her eyes away from the books she was so yearning to touch and headed for the back of the shop where a large scarlet sign hung from the wall, bearing one word: QUIDDITCH. There was no need for elaboration.

Rows and rows were dedicated to the sport; books on different teams, quills that squeaked the members of any said teams, small and interesting glass objects that gave a full play-by-play of the most recent matches… Hermione was suddenly at a loss at what to buy. She knew Ginny would appreciate anything but how could she ever come to a decision?

In the end, Hermione chose a large book entitled "The Chudley Cannons: A Legacy of Brilliance" for Ginny, knowing that the Cannons were her favorite team (most likely, she was influenced from one of her older brothers). She wasn't sure if Ginny did much reading, but anything that fell under her nose with the word "Quidditch" on it would be sure to captivate her attention for a little while, at least.

Hermione turned the corner and began weaving her way through the bookshelves and towards the front counter. She slowed her pace down a considerable amount when she arrived in the section on Transfiguration and considered buying herself a new textbook for teaching reference. Extending her hand, Hermione was about to pull down a thick navy volume, but a voice only a short distance away made her freeze.

"D'you think she'll like this one?" someone said, obviously a male.

"I don't know," replied another voice flatly, also seemingly male. "Why are you asking me?"

Hermione's stomach lurched unpleasantly as she realized who the two voices belonged to. Inching slightly to the right, she spotted Harry and Ron standing in front of a bookcase two rows in front of her own, Harry examining something in his hands. The register was the other way, though… she could easily turn left and slip away to the front of the store, unnoticed. There wouldn't be need for confrontation at all. Of course, Hermione wouldn't have minded meeting Harry in Hogsmeade… the only problem was the person standing next to him…

But somehow, Hermione couldn't move. She took two steps to the left, concealing herself in the shadows, and stood rooted to the spot as if their words had bound her there with a powerful charm. She knew Ginny was waiting for her down the road; she wasn't going to turn into a snowman, could wait just a little while longer…

"Come on, Ron, do you really think she'd like it?"

"As long as she can stick her nose in it, she'll be satisfied," Ron replied coldly.

"Yeah, I'll just take this one, she won't care either way, will she?"

Ron grunted indifferently.

Harry sighed. "What's your deal?" he asked exasperatedly. "Every time I mention Hermione, you pretend like she's pus under a house-elf's toenail. It's getting annoying."

Ron laughed mercilessly. "You don't seem to mind much, do you? Now that you two are all buddy-buddy again, everything's just back to normal, isn't it? Have you forgotten that I still think differently?"

Hermione found herself wincing slightly; Ron didn't sound like himself at all, and his icy tone could cut like a knife. She sensed a change in Harry's attitude, too, but his words were still casual and encouraging.

"You can't hate her forever."

"Yes, I can."

"You've got to make up sometime."

"No, I don't."

"It isn't that hard! I did it, see? And it didn't kill me, I'm still breathing, aren't I?"

"Well, you're more forgiving, than I am!" Ron snapped. "I don't forget things as easily! She's lucky if I ever even _look_ at her again!"

Harry sniggered and muttered incomprehensible something under his breath, but Hermione couldn't make it out. There was a loud smacking noise, and she suspected Ron had punched him in the arm.

"I don't think I know exactly why you refuse to talk to her – sensibly, I mean," said Harry. "The day you interrupted her Transfiguration class _was_ quite amusing –"

"Shut up."

Harry dissolved into small snickers again and, to Hermione's horror, began walking down the aisle towards her hiding place. Hermione threw herself against the bookshelf behind her, praying against all hope that Harry won't spot her, because she could only imagine what stupid things he would do if he did…

"I've told you, Harry," Ron said, clearly irked. "She's a prat and she's never stopped to consider other people's feelings, I don't want a replay of what happened in our seventh year."

"Ron, you've got to –"

Harry stopped talking abruptly and froze in his tracks as he passed the Transfiguration bookshelf. Hermione found him staring back at her with the most perplexed expression on his face. Horrified, she quickly put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to keep quiet. Harry obviously got the message and nodded but couldn't restrain the small smile spreading across his face.

"Actually," he said, turning around and moving back towards Ron. "I don't think Hermione would like this book much, it's too interesting, I need to pick a much more tedious one for her…"

Brushing away Harry's last comment, Hermione gratefully slipped around the corner, going completely unnoticed by the two men. She nearly knocked over a tiny witch exiting through the door as she tore across the shop, sliding to a halt in front of the register and giving the cashier quite a fright.

After throwing several Galleons and Sickles at the wizard behind the counter, Hermione ran out the door, whispering a silencing spell that would stop the annoying bell above the threshold from announcing her departure. She stumbled down the icy and deserted road, glancing occasionally over her shoulder, and found Ginny standing at the entrance to the village, rubbing her hands together and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"There you are!" she exclaimed hoarsely. "I can't even feel my nose anymore! Took you long enough; what'd you do, buy presents for the entire school?"

"Of course not," Hermione snapped, pulling Ginny after her as she quickly departed Hogsmeade. "Don't be ridiculous. There was a line, and I had to wait my turn. Now let's hurry, I don't want to miss dinner."

Ginny stared after Hermione with a curious expression but Hermione knew she didn't dare pry. The two professors walked the distance up to the school in silence. Hermione's brain was too cold to comprehend what she had just overheard in Hickory's, so she busied herself with stuffing the remainder of her sweets into her mouth instead.


	12. Lethal Quidditch

**Author's Notes:** This has got to be the longest chapter yet. At first I was freaking out because I didn't feel as if I had enough material to write with, but look at the outcome – a record-breaking ten pages on Word. Apparently Quidditch can keep you occupied.

I must say, I am very pleased at where this story is going. The number of reviews I have received is truly _amazing_, all of them as positive as possible. It's overwhelming, really. So here's my attempt at saying thank you in a very serious way (which I think I pulled off pretty well!)

I've also come to notice how most of you are craving more Ron/Hermione tension and absolutely do not want them making up. This is the twelfth chapter in which there have been no attempts at repairing their friendship, and I'm sad to say it cannot continue much longer. Just a little forewarning so you all aren't bowled over when the words "I'm sorry" finally come tumbling out of one of their mouths. Don't know why I'm telling you this, really, but I'm sure you've all realized they weren't going to ignore each other forever, right? And if not, er… sorry for the spoiler. =)

**CrimsonEnchantress:** Thank you once again for another heart-warming review. I'm very glad you've liked (and noticed) the way I've "woven this story", as you said.

**Ordinary Princess:** And thank you for reviewing my story back! Seeing as I've never been to London… or, more curiously, Los Angeles or anything East Coast, I was bound to make it seem a bit uncharacteristic, so I apologize. It was a _different_ side of London, you see. wink

**Moonypadfoot:** Yes, Harry and Ron do liven things up a bit, don't they?

**Youngwriter56:** A Draco/Hermione? Really? Let me go re-read my summary. Hm, I suppose, but as you now know, I am totally against anything that doesn't involve a stubborn little redhead. =)

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CHAPTER TWELVE: LETHAL QUIDDITCH 

The start of December dawned unbelievably cold and unusually snowy. Outdoor classes were being cancelled on a regular basis to save students from getting severe cases of frostbite (or perhaps the reason was because the hospital wing had reached its capacity of students already inflicted). Those who decided to brave the harsh conditions and venture outside for a quick snowball fight after classes were either extremely courageous or astoundingly stupid – students could be seen trudging back into the warmth of the castle after dinner daily, their faces frozen by the wind in grotesque positions, begging incomprehensibly for Warming Concoctions through immovable blue lips. Hermione had resulted to assigning detentions to those who frequently had overwhelming impulses to go against all better judgment and have ferocious snowball fights anyway.

Because of the great deal of complaining Hermione overheard regularly in her classes, it was obvious the two Quidditch teams participating in the upcoming match, Gryffindor and Slytherin, were having rather a difficult time practicing. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw appeared quite laid back and were, undoubtedly, grateful they would not be playing in such harsh weather conditions. Hermione had caught several members of both teams trying to weasel out of practicing in the hallways between classes – the most recent event had, however, gone a bit too far.

"Just do it," sixth-year Denver Wickers was commanding a horrified-looking fourth-year, Macaria Jules, in the corridor outside Hermione's classroom three days before the upcoming match. "Come on, make it quick."

"I am _not_ jinxing you, Denver!" Macaria cried, backing into the wall. "Tony would go through the roof if he knew you were trying to get out of practice like this!"

"I'm not asking for a _strong_ jinx," replied Denver, clearly frustrated. "I don't want to miss the match, of course, just make me sprout mushrooms on my nose or something, just so I won't have to fly tonight –"

"Absolutely not!"

"Look," said Denver heatedly, drawing his wand from his pocket. "If you don't jinx me then I'll jinx _you_ until I get a good hex on me, all right? Back off, you warts," he added to an interested group of first years to his left, causing them to scurry away in random directions. Several heads turned as the rest of the hallway quickly became fascinated as well.

"Oh, I don't mind if you jinx me," Macaria said airily. "I can't very well jinx _you_ if I'm knocked out cold, though, can I? So go ahead, I'd be delighted to stay inside tonight, too."

"All right, you've asked for it –" Denver raised his wand menacingly in front of Macaria, who merely yawned. Hermione, who had been watching the scene unnoticed from the shadows of her classroom doorway, realized it was about to get serious and darted forward, pulling her own wand from her pocket.

_"Accio!"_

Denver's wand promptly shot from his hand and into Hermione's own. He gazed around nonplussed, looking for the source of the voice. His eyes widened when he noticed his professor glaring at him a short distance away, having realized how much trouble his antics had caused him.

"Even though I agree that your Gryffindor team captain should not be having you practice in such formidable weather," Hermione began slowly, clenching her teeth to stop herself from shouting at the quaking boy, "you will _never again_ result to threatening another student with magic to get out of training. Is that clear?"

Denver shook his head, looking slightly relieved.

"That's thirty points from Gryffindor and a detention, Mr. Wickers," Hermione added upon seeing his relaxed expression. To her surprise, it was quickly replaced with a more thoughtful and perhaps even hopeful one.

"Professor, can I do my detention –?"

"No, you are going to fly tonight even if it is snowing hippogriffs, and I will see to it personally. See me during the next break and we will arrange the time of your detention." Hermione gave him another sharp glare before beckoning her fourth year class into the room and shutting the door with a resounding _snap_.

On the morning of the match, Hermione walked into the Great Hall to find it teeming with students all chattering eagerly. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were already dressed in their uniforms with their broomsticks in hand, glaring at one another from across the Hall and looking rather intimidated themselves. Impulsively, Hermione looked up to check the weather and found the ceiling a dark, snowy gray; warm and fluffy enchanted snowflakes were falling, but compared to the raging snowstorm outside, Hermione found she rather preferred the former.

"Hey," she said, seating herself between Ginny and Desdemona at the head table. They both greeted her back a bit more stiffly than usual, avoiding eye contact with one another. Hermione suppressed the desire to scoff at their immaturity and said nothing.

"Looks like quite a blizzard," she said casually, pulling a plate of biscuits toward her.

"Doesn't matter," Ginny replied quickly. "The Gryffindors can fly through anything. Been practicing nearly every night this week, unlike _other_ teams." She shot a glare at Desdemona, who laughed.

"The Slytherins were smart enough to get all their training in before the storm hit, Ginny," said Desdemona. "Haven't had to go outside once this week. Clever, they are."

Ginny muttered something under her breath that Hermione was sure would have highly offended Desdemona, had she heard it.

"I'm sure both teams will fly well."

"Yeah."

"Right."

The rest of breakfast passed in an awkward, forced silence between the three, which was odd, as the rest of the Hall was quite noisy and excited at the thought of an approaching match. It wasn't until the two teams got up and exited the Hall (amid many cheers from their supporters and rather loud whoops from Ginny) that Hermione found herself becoming a bit delighted as well. Really, she had never been a true-to-heart Quidditch fan, but she wouldn't miss the opportunity to watch a match for anything in the world.

Desdemona left the Hall ten minutes early, muttering about showing support to her team and getting a good seat, leaving Hermione and Ginny on their own. They had just engaged in a conversation about the new motion-detecting coffee maker in the staff room when Harry appeared in Desdemona's empty seat, grinning.

"Quidditch!" he exclaimed as he poured himself a large cup of pumpkin juice. "Haven't seen a proper match in ages. It's hard, you know, to sit down and watch a match without jumping up halfway to chase after a Death Eater or something. Gryffindor will cream Slytherin," he added with emphasis. Ginny positively beamed at him.

"Where's – _Ron_?" Hermione found it difficult to choke out his name, especially after she had unexpectedly eavesdropped on his and Harry's conversation in Hickory's (she and Harry came to an unspoken agreement not to discuss the situation any further). She couldn't help noticing his absence, though.

Harry shrugged. "Not sure. Said he had some work to catch up on for the Ministry. Wouldn't tell me what, the stupid prat. Missing a game of Quidditch over work – that's something you would do, Hermione."

Before Hermione could snap back, Ginny interrupted. "Well, that's his job, isn't it? He's an Unspeakable. Can't say what he does in that Department of Mysteries, can he? You would think his work's rather important… though this _is_ Quidditch," she added as an afterthought, sounding thoroughly betrayed that her own brother would miss a game.

The Hall began to empty out as the school pulled on coats, hats, gloves, scarves, and any other protective clothing they could find, ready to venture out onto the grounds. Hermione and Ginny rose out of their seats, closely followed by Harry, and swept through the crowd into the Entrance Hall, where black figures were slowly disappearing into the white mist beyond. The wind was ferocious and threatened to knock Hermione sideways several times on the walk down to the Quidditch pitch; the snow was so blinding that several students actually brought Muggle sunglasses to wear (though Hermione spotted a Hufflepuff with sunglasses that could hardly be Muggle at all, since Muggle sunglasses didn't squeal loudly and repetitively change lens color). She had absolutely no idea how anyone could fly in such dreadful circumstances.

The three adults seized seats high in the stands, which perhaps wasn't an entirely smart thing to do – the wind appeared to be stronger here. Hermione racked her brain for any spell that could protect them from being blown backwards into the Forbidden Forest, but nothing came to mind, so she settled on covering her face with her hat instead.

As the rest of the seats filled around them, the chattering grew to a maximum but was nearly drowned out by the deafening wind. James Horn, the kind Arithmancy wizard who had congratulated Hermione on consecutively winning the Most Valuable Witch award, was seated three rows back, holding an oversized microphone in his hand and shouting through the din to Professor Flitwick. It appeared as if he would be doing the commentating.

Fourteen figures, half dressed in robes of scarlet and the other half in robes of green, staggered out onto the field through what had to be at least two feet of snow. They lined up facing a taller figure separating the two teams, who was holding a broomstick as well.

"Who's refereeing?" Hermione asked Ginny, pointing to the figure. Ginny didn't appear to have heard, so Hermione was forced to repeat the question four times before getting a response.

"That's Bella," she replied. "The flying instructor – forget his name, honestly – fell ill yesterday. He's in the hospital wing now. Bella volunteered to step in. She's superb on a broom, really."

Bella opened her mouth but no words came out; seconds later, the two teams had kicked off and were zooming upward against the wind and snow. Luckily, Hermione was sitting close to James Horn, or otherwise she wouldn't have been able to hear the commentating at all.

"Gryffindor has possession of the Quaffle to start the match off – Joyce Goodman passes to Denver Wickers, who drops it – caught by Macaria Jules of Gryffindor, nice save! They're going up the field toward the goalposts – watch it, Goodman, that's a Bludger, not a snowball – smacked toward the Slytherin captain Darla DiLorenzo by Luke Barnes. DiLorenzo dodges the Bludger and continues to pursue Jules – come on, Macaria, you're almost there!"

There was a simultaneous groan from the crowd as a thuggish Slytherin player cut off Macaria Jules. She screamed and averted her broom upwards, dropping the Quaffle and leaving Slytherin in possession.

"Ruddy bad block on Slytherin's part, no warning whatsoever. Barry Hunte has the Quaffle, quite a distance to the goalposts – passes to Russell Stuckenbruck, who throws it backwards to DiLorenzo – nice move, Gryffindor ought to steal that one – DiLorenzo passes to Stuckenbruck who volleys it to Hunte. Ooh, that Bludger nearly missed your left arm there, Darla – knocked out of the way by Ray Wigg. Slytherin's nearing the goal, they're closing in – SAVE IT, MARROQUIN!"

Tony Marroquin nearly threw himself off his broom to stop the Quaffle from entering his left hoop, but to no avail, failed. The Gryffindor supporters groaned again as the Slytherins jumped from their seats, cheering wildly. Hermione caught sight of Desdemona grinning noticeably across the field. Ginny, on the other hand, looked positively murderous.

"Ten-nothing to Slytherin," James announced, raising his voice against the vociferous wind. "No amount of wind or snow is going to stop this ambitious team from winning today. Okay, so Gryffindor's back in possession, it's Jules with the Quaffle again. Going up the field alone – watch your back there, Cattrall, she's coming through – Dirke and Wigg are coming up on her, their clubs raised. Is this allowed, Miss Levrero? Don't look back, Jules, come on!"

Suddenly two figures appeared at Macaria's side, blocking the Slytherin Beaters from advancing upon her. Realizing who it was, the Gryffindors let out cheers of support, which were most likely unheard by the players on the field.

"I don't believe this! Out of nowhere come Goodman and Wickers to assist Jules – _nice_ move, very unexpected but _nice_! Slytherin, you better be paying attention, they could steal this from right under your nose today. Moving up the field, closing in on the goalposts – the Slytherin Beaters retreat backwards, Wigg ducking to avoid a near collision with Kinsey of Gryffindor – they're almost there, just a few more feet, and –"

Cheers to rival the clamor of the wind were let out all over the stadium as Macaria feigned scoring to the center goalpost and instead threw the Quaffle through the right one. Dale Vselensky barely made a move to capture the ball, but no one cared; the score was now tied, ten to ten. Ginny was still screaming minutes after the crowd's cheers had subsided, and Hermione, who noticed she was attracting many stares from nearby professors, forcefully pushed her back into her seat, giving her a stern look while ignoring Harry's stifled sniggers.

"Getting exciting, this match!" James continued, unable to hide the glee in his voice at Gryffindor scoring. "Slytherin in possession – DiLorenzo has the Quaffle and drops it to Hunte, whether deliberate or accidental, it worked either way – up the field Hunte goes, dodging Bludgers and Gryffindors alike, he's – wait a minute, what's Christoph doing?"

In a streak of green, the Slytherin Seeker darted past the Chasers, up the field towards the Gryffindor goalposts. The crowd rose to their feet to watch; the players on the field became immediately immobile. Sadie Kinsey, Gryffindor Seeker, noticed too and did a complete turn in mid-air, zooming a full twenty feet downward. She was still a good distance away from catching up with Jeremy Christoph, and if he really did see the Snitch, there was no chance that Kinsey would get to it first. Then, unexpectedly, Christoph pulled out of the dive and turned to face the Gryffindor Seeker with a perceptible sneer on his face. Kinsey was unable to stop in time and collided head first with Christoph; both of them went tumbling to the ground, making large imprints in the snow below.

Bella rose her whistle to her lips, but the shrill sound was drowned out by the groans and jeers from the crowd. Fortunately, the two Seekers had not fallen a long distance, and the snow seemed to have cushioned their landing.

"THAT WAS DELIBERATE!" Harry shouted, now on his feet with the rest of the Gryffindor supporters. The Slytherins, however, remained in their seats, laughing so boisterously that their faces turned scarlet. "HE DIDN'T SEE THE SNITCH AT ALL! DIDN'T SHE REALIZE THAT? COME ON, ANYONE COULD'VE –"

The only person yelling louder than Harry was, perhaps, Ginny. Hermione covered her ears with her hands and tried to block out the screams from the angry professor (unfortunately, she happened to be seated next to her and received the bad end of the tantrum right in her left ear). Her words were unintelligible – she seemed to be beyond coherent sentences and took to screaming random insults at the Slytherins instead.

"– awful, appalling, nasty move, that was," James was saying angrily. "But it appears as if both Seekers are uninjured – darn Gryffindor's luck, Christoph's still able to use both his legs –

and yes, they're both mounting their broomsticks and disappearing into the blizzard again. Apparently Christoph's little show wasn't counted as a foul. Levrero's blown the whistle and the match is back on."

Determined to show Slytherin up, Gryffindor seized the Quaffle instantly and before anyone knew it, had scored another goal. Slytherin was looking absolutely deadly by now, as was Desdemona across the field. Ginny had forgotten her anger at the unjustly sabotage against her team and was cheering Gryffindor on with much enthusiasm.

"I don't believe it!" said James ten minutes later after Gryffindor scored yet again on Slytherin. "Gryffindor's doing amazing! Just takes a nasty little Slytherin to make you all play harder, eh? Er – sorry, Professor King, didn't mean anything by it," he added quickly as Desdemona shook her fist at him quite noticeably from her own seat. "Well, let's see… the score is now forty-ten to Gryffindor and still no sign of the Snitch."

The two Seekers were circling the goalposts at the opposite ends of the field, thrashing their heads wildly about, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Snitch before their opponent. True, apart from Christoph's ersatz dive, there had been no more action concerning the Seekers.

"Barry Hunte of Slytherin with the Quaffle, narrowly escaping a Bludger there. Passes to DiLorenzo, who's flying beautifully today, I must say. Intercepted by Jules of Gryffindor – _duck_, Jules, Wigg's swinging his club at you! Near miss! Quite nasty of you, that was, Wigg. Try swinging it at yourself next time, eh? Er –" He fumbled, receiving another spiteful glare from the Slytherin lot. "Right. DiLorenzo cuts off Jules, who drops the Quaffle to Stuckenbruck – Slytherin's closing in on the goalposts, get on your guard there, Marroquin – they shoot, and it's –"

He didn't need to finish his sentence; the Gryffindor supporters did it for him. Another concurrent groan swept the stands as the Slytherins jumped onto their chairs, dancing with glee. Ginny was shouting furiously at the nearest Gryffindor player who didn't seem to notice her at all; in truth, Hermione realized, the blizzard was picking up and the winds were, if possible, becoming more determined by the minute to wipe out all sound from the crowd. She could barely see what was going on at all and had to rely on the commentating.

"Come on, Gryffindor, get a grip on things," James said rather angrily. "Don't let those slimy – er, I mean, _well-trained_, er – Slytherins one-up you…" He trailed off, loosing interest in his attempt to politely insult Gryffindor's opponents and refocused on the match instead.

"Gryffindor's got the Quaffle – it's Goodman to Wickers to Jules, back to Wickers, back to Jules, to Goodman again – Slytherin's looking confused! You put that club _down_, Marshall Dirke! Passed to Wickers by Goodman, very sleek there, Joyce – a Bludger comes up on Denver's right side but he drops several feet to avoid it – DODGE, WICKERS, DODGE!"

Denver Wickers looked behind him, horrified at these words, to see the two oversized Slytherin Beaters gaining on him with their clubs raised. As they were all stationed on Hermione's side of the field, she could see them all quite well, but apparently Bella was on the opposite end or otherwise a foul would most definitely have been called. The Gryffindor Seeker came up behind Ray Wigg and threw a rather large snowball at the back of his head, which knocked him forward and nearly off his broom. He veered to the left and collided with his teammate, giving the three Gryffindor Chasers the freedom to continue up the field.

"IT'S A GOAL TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Gryffindor erupted into cheers that were quickly drowned out by the earsplitting boos and hisses from the Slytherins. Luckily Bella was still nowhere to be seen; otherwise a foul would have been called on the Gryffindors as well.

"Fifty-twenty to Gryffindor! Someone better spot the Snitch soon before we all turn into icicles. Slytherin's in possession, DiLorenzo skirting several Gryffindors along the way…"

Even though James Horn was sitting only a few rows back from Hermione's, his voice began to fade away and a roaring came to replace it. The snow was coming down like sheets of ice now, so thick and cold that it scorched your skin upon touching, and obscuring Hermione's view so much that she had to squint to see Ginny sitting next to her. The players moved away from her side of the field and she could no longer see the game at all. Something didn't seem right; where had all the fliers gone? Did someone spot the Snitch? Had a team scored? She had no way of knowing. Glancing around and straining her eyes, it appeared as if the students and professors surrounding her were thinking along the same lines. Again the same crossed her mind: _something isn't right_.

There was a brief glint of gold not too far away that had to be the Snitch. Her breath catching in her chest, Hermione became hopeful that someone would grab it – preferably Gryffindor – so the match would end and she could retreat to the warm and dry staff room. Then a voice rang out over the wind, a harsh and threatening voice Hermione had never heard before. How it was heard at all above the commotion of the wind, she did not know, but its words were so unnerving that she hardly had enough sensibility left to think of anything else.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY! _CRUCIO_!"

The instantaneous gasps around the stands were unheard, but Hermione could feel them. There was no mistaking it; someone or something on that field had just performed an Unforgivable Curse on another person. But – no, it couldn't be. That voice was completely foreign. None of the students spoke like that, and it sounded like neither a man nor a woman's voice.

But then the awful, dreaded screams followed, puncturing the air, making the wind seem like nothing more than a playful breeze. Another voice – higher this time, and more feminine – screamed uncontrollably for several long painstaking seconds before ceasing and allowing the wind to dominate once more. There was no telling where either of these voices had come from – perhaps the ground? Or still in the air?

Several more cries erupted from a location that seemed to be mid-field. Two distant flashes of light illuminated a clump of players on brooms, but vanished quickly, leaving the crowd as clueless and terrified as ever. A vague but unmistakable shout of _"STUPEFY!"_ drifted over to where Hermione sat frozen to the spot, not by the bitter temperatures but by fear; the snow became at least an inch thinner just in time for her to see a limp figure plummeting through the air towards the ground. The crowd rose to their feet, speechless but alarmed… it appeared as if the figure, no doubt an actual human being, would sickeningly crash against the earth at any second. But miraculously, it didn't; a strong, familiar yell of _"IMPEDIMENTA!"_ from somewhere below was directed at the figure, causing it to slow down a considerable amount, just as the snowstorm decided to intensify yet again.

Whatever was taking place out on the Quidditch field was as absurd as it was puzzling. Listening only to outlying shouts of spells and curses only bewildered Hermione more. She was sure that more than one person – or perhaps even more than one student – had been hurt, or even –

Her thought was interrupted when she felt a strong tug on her arm. Swiveling her head around and reaching for her wand instinctively, Hermione saw a face that only could've belonged to Harry. His expression was one of mingled determination and alarm and she was sure that it matched her own.

"Harry, what the –"

"COME ON!" he yelled, tugging her arm more forcefully and pulling her to her feet. Ginny seemed to have disappeared from her side. "WE'VE GOT TO GET DOWN THERE, COME _ON_!"

Stumbling through the stands and treading on several panicking people's feet, she followed Harry at a run. Her wand was clutched tightly in her right palm, ready to blast anyone out of the way. The pair of them slipped down the wet stairs, descending one level after another, Hermione's breathing as ragged and aberrant as Harry's. She couldn't think rationally about anything – the only thought stuck in her mind was the command to get down to the ground and prevent any more perilous occurrences.

They flat-out sprinted across the field through several feet of snow before Hermione collected enough sense to melt the snow rapidly with her wand and create an easier path. Many people were grouped not far from them; several appeared to be lying unconscious. Gulping down her fear at what she might encounter upon arriving on the scene, Hermione stayed close to Harry, breathing heavily from the force of the storm blowing against her face.

Someone with a very noticeable mop of flaming red hair was standing amongst the group, facing them, their wand out and their hand shaking. Three unmistakable students – all dressed in Gryffindor-colored robes – were lying unconscious in the snow. What appeared to be all of the Slytherin Quidditch team and the remainder of Gryffindor's were gathered around the trio, staring at each other with faces that put the color of the snow to shame. The smallest Slytherin who, Hermione remembered, happened to be the Seeker was clenching something tightly in his right hand, his broomstick lying forgotten near his feet.

Ron, who Hermione thought had remained up at the castle to finish "work", as Harry had said, was the vibrant-haired figure facing them. He noticed Hermione and Harry advancing upon the group and his expression confirmed Hermione's worst suspicions; something appalling had happened indeed.

"What the hell's going on?" Harry shouted at Ron, staring around at all the children, causing them to cower under his gaze. Two Slytherins at the front of the group parted and McGonagall, apparently finishing an investigation of the three fallen students, emerged at Ron's side, looking as if she was about to collapse on the spot.

A soft _thud_ sent Hermione nearly a foot into the air; turning wildly around with her wand rising at her side, Bella came darting toward the group, having just landed. Her expression matched everyone else's – terror rivaled by perplexity. McGonagall pushed past Hermione and engaged in a conversation with Bella immediately, both their faces becoming graver by the minute.

Harry repeated his question to Ron again but Ron, who seemed to have lost his voice, pointed one quaking finger at the middle of the group. Harry and Hermione edged forward, knocking the Gryffindors and Slytherins aside, to look more closely at the three students lying immobile on the ground. Hermione gasped and nearly collapsed herself.

The smallest Gryffindor, the female, was none other than Seeker Sadie Kinsey. Her legs stuck out at odd angles and her eyes were closed, but a faint grimace still lingered around her face. The other two larger figures were the Gryffindor Beaters, Mitch Cattrall and Luke Barnes. Mitch seemed to have replaced his club with his wand but Luke still held on tight to his own club, looking as if it had gotten recent use for something other than a Bludger. Nothing made any sense at all. Why were three Gryffindors who, just minutes before, had been playing their hearts out on the field all lying on the ground, motionless?

"Are – are they –?" Hermione was unable to choke out the rest of her sentence.

"Still alive," Ron finished grimly. A more lucid Hermione would have realized that she was actually speaking to Ron without throwing something at him and he was answering back with no traces of a sneer on his face. The current Hermione, however, had no time for such tedious thoughts and feelings; several lives could potentially be at stake.

"Ron, what's this all about?" Harry asked again, bending down to take the pulse of the Seeker.

Ron opened his mouth and closed it quickly, shaking his head and staring pointedly at the students surrounding them. Hermione looked too. Normally, the Slytherin team would have been delighted at the prospect of three unconscious Gryffindors, but the sight of all seven students trembling and gazing unfocusedly at the ground only sent Hermione's stomach into uncomfortable somersaults.

McGonagall and Bella's distant conversation ceased as they reappeared in the group, pushing aside several Slytherins that looked as if they had strong cases of the Leg-Locker Curse. With a flick of her wand, Bella conjured three stretchers at her side and, with another swish, the lifeless Gryffindors were hoisted onto them. Bella turned on her heel sharply and plowed through the snow in a direction that no doubt led to the castle, the three stretchers floating after her over her tracks. The remaining members of the group watched the procession disappear into white nothingness.

Hermione turned her head around again, only to face a grim Harry and Ron. As much as she wished it otherwise, she knew all three of them were thinking the very same thought.

"Potter, Weasley, Granger, you take this lot back up to the school and make sure they get to their common rooms safely," McGonagall said, gesturing at the lingering students and trying to regain her severe tone of voice (it still shook noticeably). "You will then meet me in the hospital wing – we are in dire need of a discussion. Do not let the students stray until they are secure in their Houses, do you understand?"

Harry and Ron shook their heads vigorously but Hermione found she could not move hers. A familiar pounding had started again in her temple, making her very aware of her surroundings and the current circumstances – an Unforgivable Curse, three students as pale as death, a fatal snowstorm, that harsh voice…

"C'mon, move," Harry muttered, jostling Hermione and knocking her out of her trance. She blinked the snowflakes that had settled on her lashes out of her eyes and rounded up the horror-struck Gryffindors, giving them all slight shoves towards the direction in which Bella had disappeared.

The walk up to the school felt like a funeral march and seemed to take no time at all. Nobody within the large group talked; they were all too rigid from the cold or too shell-shocked to form a single comprehensible thought. When the walls of Hogwarts castle finally came into view, Hermione felt herself longing to plop down in a squashy armchair in her dorm with a nice, thick book in her hands. But, she reminded herself, that option would not be within her reach for quite a while. It was nearing lunchtime and as much as her stomach rumbled, she repeated McGonagall's words in her mind and knew lunch was currently insignificant and would be put off – there were, obviously, larger issues at hand.

As soon as the front doors flew open and the group entered the entrance Hall, Harry ordered the Gryffindors and Slytherins to retreat back to their common rooms themselves and to stay there. He assured them with a slight waver to his voice that their fellow Quidditch players were unharmed. With reproachful looks and disgruntled mutters, the students ambled up the stairs and down to the dungeons, casting curious glances back at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Right, hospital wing," Harry mumbled with false confidence. The trio set off after the Gryffindors, altering their route slightly, all lost in their own thoughts.

They entered the long ward minutes later to find three beds in the center occupied by the fallen Gryffindors, a short and petite witch bent over the nearest one. Taking in her white attire and the bottle of potion in her left hand, Hermione came to the conclusion that she must be the nurse.

McGonagall rushed out of the infirmary office (which was labeled MADAM Y. LUCILLE, obviously the name of the said nurse) closely followed by Bella, Desdemona, and Ginny. All four of them were looking exceptionally grim and McGonagall seemed to have grown several shades paler since Hermione had last seen her. Desdemona and Ginny were no longer throwing challenging looks at one another and seemed to have forgotten about their disputes over the outcome of the Quidditch match altogether.

"Are they okay?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"Each of them has suffered a great deal of trauma," McGonagall explained quietly, glancing down at the slack face of Sadie Kinsey. "They will, of course, be revived in due time for imperative questioning, but for now, the least we can do is offer them peace at mind. There is much to discuss, but a great deal cannot be done without their help." She broke off sadly, unable to repress a shuddering sigh.

"Professor, what _happened_ on the Quidditch field?" Ron asked slowly as if not really wanting to hear the answer.

After giving Harry, Ron, and Hermione long, hard stares in turn, McGonagall took a lengthy breath and attempted to force out calm, sensible words.

"Perhaps you should take a seat, and be prepared to hear the very worst."

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**Author's Notes, Edition Two:** Quite the cliffhanger, don't you agree?

grins evilly


	13. Questions and Answers

**Author's Notes:** And here it is, another chapter nearly as long as the last one. I must have some sort of illness that causes me to write exceptionally long chapters – usually, the ones I write average around five to six pages, not _nine to ten_. I think it's rather a nice illness, really.

I apologize in advance if this chapter confuses anyone. It's very mind-boggling; I think I was beginning to confuse myself even. Lots of answers, though – and lots of answers that create more questions. Ahh, bliss.

But seriously, if anyone is confused beyond imagination, please submit your questions – in a **review**, of course! And read very closely; I may have hidden a few things in between the lines, you never know, I can be exceptionally sneaky… or perhaps just weird…

**Thoroughbredchickie:** Yes, I really love cliff-hangers, because I always know what'll happen next, and you don't. =)

**Brilliant-author16:** I know how much you love HR/R but remember, this story isn't TOTALLY based on that. I won't fail you, though, so never fear!

**Moonypadfoot:** That's a good suggestion, thank you! I may incorporate that into a future chapter.

And as my lovely, outspoken beta pointed out, the ending sucks, and I know it.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 

Hermione couldn't believe the words she was hearing. For one crazy, impulsive minute, she thought that perhaps McGonagall had gone insane, or maybe _she_ had gone insane. Instead of getting answers to her questions, her questions only seemed to multiply rapidly with each new piece of information she received. It was utterly _impossible_.

She was still seated in the hospital wing, gazing disbelievingly at McGonagall, her mouth unconsciously hanging open. Apart from the small scuffles of Madam Lucille bustling around the ward, tending to her cataleptic patients, everything was quite silent (a very strange feeling considering the racket she had just endured on the Quidditch field). Harry and Ron were immobile next to her, having not spoken a word for many head-throbbing minutes. Ginny, Bella, and Desdemona stood in the shadows near the door, listening earnestly and ducking out of sight now and then to whisper amongst themselves.

"Hogwarts is no longer safe," McGonagall austerely told the three adults seated in front of her. "You have just witnessed for yourself the reason why you were called back."

"The students have all gone mad?" Ron muttered quietly. It was more of a statement than a question.

"No, it isn't them," Hermione began slowly, trying to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together in a sensible fashion. "They aren't acting on their own self will. Someone else is controlling them." She glanced expectantly up at McGonagall, praying that McGonagall would shake her head and prove Hermione's theory false. To Hermione's great horror, she nodded.

"Correct, Miss Granger. But first, I believe I need to start at the beginning of today's events so you will fully understand what exactly we're up against." McGonagall took a long, rattling breath, and for the first time, Hermione noticed how old and weary she was looking. The lines on her face seemed intensified in her current countenance of gloom, and it was a sign of how ominous the situation was that McGonagall didn't try to smooth things over with her normally severe expression.

"As you know, three Gryffindors were attacked on the Quidditch pitch during this morning's game. I suppose I am right in saying the factor that makes the circumstances most precarious is that – that the students assaulted one another."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth to sustain a small gasp. To her left, she could sense Harry strengthen his grip on the arm of his chair.

"Sadie Kinsey, the Gryffindor Seeker," said McGonagall slowly, "was hit with the Cruciatus Curse –"

_It sounds worse when said aloud_, Hermione thought painfully.

"– by Beater Mitch Cattrall."

_No. It's a lie_. The words reverberated around Hermione's brain endlessly, and she willed for them to stop. It was simply unfeasible. She didn't need to hear anymore to come to her own conclusion – it just wasn't done. It _couldn't_ have happened. There was no logical explanation for any of the words being forced into her mind.

"Apparently," McGonagall continued in a would-be calm voice, "Kinsey had spotted the Snitch moments before Luke Barnes attacked her from behind with his club, catching her unaware. While all Slytherin team members remain innocent for the time being, there is a possibility that an agreement had been worked out –"

"You're saying Slytherin was paying Cattrall and Barnes to kill the Gryffindor Seeker, just so they could get to the Snitch first?" Ron blurted out angrily. McGonagall gazed at him in such a manner that one would gaze at a rather interesting fish, and Hermione once again expected her to correct Ron for being so rash. But she said nothing – the look in her eyes gave her answer away. Fazed, Ron sunk back in his seat and muttered, "That's sick."

"We aren't ruling the option out completely, Weasley," McGonagall said. "As highly unlikely as it is, we need to keep cool and collected heads to sort this through. Slytherin will be questioned – chances are Veritaserum will come in handy – and if someone from the opposing team was involved, the consequences shall be very harsh indeed."

"That still doesn't explain what happened to the Beaters," Hermione pointed out. She was hoping that a snag would be caught in McGonagall's story, that it would all unravel rationally and turn out to be a complete misunderstanding. She wasn't ready to believe what she was being told – and she wasn't ready to admit it to herself, either.

"It seems that several Slytherin and Gryffindor Chasers were caught in the midst of the – the accident. Barnes and Cattrall were Stunned shortly after Kinsey fell from her broom, their onlookers having panicked and believing the two Beaters were going to curse them as well. None of the three Gryffindors were injured after the fall, though I would be wrong to think Kinsey won't be quite traumatized after –" She broke off, gesturing to the fallen students, and cleared her throat unnecessarily. Hermione, completely in shock and feeling traumatized herself, did not notice.

Harry, who had been silent throughout McGonagall's explanation, suddenly spoke aloud, screwing up his face in concentration. "So – so the voice that yelled Crucio at Kinsey was Cattrall… and then he and Barnes were Stunned, that's when we heard Stupefy…"

Like Hermione, Harry was forced to recount the events of the match by only what had been heard. The snowstorm had been much too thick to actually _see_ anything. Somehow, thought Hermione, basing the incident upon the sounds heard was far more disheartening.

"Wait – who did the Impediment Jinx?"

"That was me," Ron said sullenly, looking slightly sheepish at being dragged into the conversation. "I was – I saw one of the Beaters coming towards the ground and thought it would have saved him from crashing, you know –"

"Harry told me you were up at the castle!" Hermione exclaimed. She hadn't yet registered fully that Ron had indeed been on the field at the time… she should have known it was his yell that saved the Gryffindor Seeker from a near fatality.

"No, I wasn't," Ron said indignantly, shooting Harry a small glare. "I was lurking near the entrance to the field… I thought something like this would happen at the match, and I was right, wasn't I?"

Hermione blushed slightly, not precisely knowing why, and opened her mouth to retaliate. McGonagall cut her off just in the nick of time, waving her hand impatiently. "Yes, that was very smart of you, Weasley. But we need to focus on the situation at hand."

"Which is?" Ron demanded.

The drained professor gave him a disapproving frown. "While we agree the students are not acting on their own accord, it will be difficult to persuade others without actual evidence. In all reality, any sane person would take a look at what has been going on and conclude I'm running a madhouse. We have nothing to support these accounts with. The Ministry has been prying, of course, but as it is becoming more serious, I fear that their interference will soon become greater. It has all been kept quiet up until now – have you not wondered why nothing has appeared in the Daily Prophet? The Ministry will let it leak to the public eventually and soon the hordes of owls from parents will be flying in, demanding to know what danger their students are in, or what danger their students are to others."

Ron, who obviously did not fully understand the magnitude of the situation, looked almost elated. "Well, that's simple!" he said, looking round at Harry. "We'll just tell them the truth that someone mad's on the loose and controlling the kids –"

Hermione was coming to her senses now. The shock of three guiltless Gryffindors attacking one another was wearing off. She suddenly took in the fact that she was sitting in the hospital wing having a conference with McGonagall – she realized that the entire school was in imminent danger of an ethereal lunatic – and she fully comprehended that immature, brainless, narcissistic Ron was sitting next to her, acting as if nothing serious had happened at all. She could have kicked him.

"Don't you see?" she hissed in a much more Hermione-like way. "Listen to what you just said. If that statement was released to the public, especially to the parents, don't you think Hogwarts would seem just a _bit_ dangerous? We are supposed to _protect_ the students, not expose them to murderous criminals!"

Ron seemed rather taken aback. He looked as if he had just now realized Hermione was sitting aside him and, completely thrown off guard, did not have a witty come back at the ready. McGonagall took this as an opportunity to speak.

"Exactly, Granger," she said, lowering her voice even though Madam Lucille had disappeared into her office again; Ginny, Bella, and Desdemona were deep in hushed conversation; and the Gryffindors couldn't have listened any better than three highly intelligent rocks.

"The Ministry would be sent into turmoil if they knew anything at all was amiss at Hogwarts. While the Minister himself is a very sharp, independent man, I cannot pretend that he would not appreciate the chaos caused by this… situation."

"But we can't lie, Professor," Harry pointed out, still deeply absorbed in thought.

"No, we can't," McGonagall said, her eyes twinkling oddly. "We will not be forced to descend to being deceitful. If things do get out of hand, I will have no choice but to notify the Ministry and allow them to intervene."

Noticing the twinkle in McGonagall's eyes, Hermione abruptly understood. Harry and Ron still gazed at her nonplussed, but she knew – she finally knew what to do, what their mission was, what McGonagall had been hinting at.

"We have to solve it first," she mumbled into the silence. Harry and Ron turned to look at her. "Before the Ministry finds out, and before we have to result to requesting their assistance, we have to figure it out."

"Figure _what_ out?" Ron asked exasperatedly. From the look on his face, Hermione could undoubtedly deduce that he thought she was off her rocker.

"Why the students are acting oddly," she said, gazing vaguely at the lawn of green grass visible through the nearby window but not really noticing the sight. "Why they're attacking one another, why they're acting as if – as if they're under mind-control…"

"You mean, the Imperius Curse?" said Harry with a hint of understanding in his voice too.

"Yes, that," Hermione said offhandedly. "The Ministry cannot know… they would take over the school, possibly even close it down, and who knows what else –"

"Wait a minute, the _Imperius Curse?_" Ron asked. He was looking from Harry, to Hermione, to McGonagall, and back to Hermione. "So, you're saying someone's got the entire school under the curse and they're controlling them to do whatever they like?"

Hermione was silent for a minute. "Well, I suppose it's a possibility…"

"It's crazy, if you ask me," Ron said, folding his arms and giving Hermione his you're-absolutely-nutty look again.

"I _didn't_ ask you," Hermione snapped.

"It's still crazy. We don't even know who this person is, or _why_ they want little students to do their bidding. What's the motive here?"

"They wanted my records, if the person I saw that night in the Forest is the same person we're talking about now," Hermione mumbled.

"Ah, yes," Ron said with a knowing smirk. "Someone probably wants to _murder_ you, Professor Granger, as usual, I presume. They're having your faithful students do wild and crazy stunts to draw your attention away, so in the middle of the night, when you least expect it –"

"That is enough, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said sternly. Hermione shuddered at the thought, though it was too far-fetched to be true – and it was a theory of _Ron's_, so of course it was improbable. But if it weren't… the question wouldn't be _who_ wanted to murder her, it would be _why…_ and so absorbed in her own thoughts and speculations, the craving to kick Ron again went unnoticed.

"Once more, the Imperius Curse could be a possibility," McGonagall said wisely.

"There are too many possibilities," Harry mumbled. Hermione looked at him closely; his mouth was moving rapidly as if he were talking to himself and the frown he wore increased the lines on his face while he immersed himself in deep concentration. It was clear that he was trying to work out the solution here and now; Hermione knew, however, that it would take more time than Harry had realized.

McGonagall sighed. "Yes, Mr. Potter, that is true. But –" She broke off to glance at the door down the ward which had been thrown open by Madam Lucille. Lowering her voice and talking rapidly, she said, "I trust you three know what to do. It is imperative that you do not breathe a word of this to any of the students or any of the staff members you find… unreliable. Come to me if you have uncovered anything new. And now I daresay we will have a chance to speak with the Gryffindors themselves."

Ginny, Bella, and Desdemona emerged from the shadows by the door as Madam Lucille stood in front of the three occupied beds with a large bottle of purple liquid in her left hand, her wand in her other.

"Are you going to revive them, Yolanda?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes, and I think a simple Ennervate shall do it." The witch murmured the spell and waved her wand in an elongated arc over the beds. A muffled groaning from the one to the farthest right met everyone's waiting ears.

Sadie Kinsey's eyes flickered open and she pushed herself into an upright sitting position, rubbing her face and staring at the concerned adults gathered around her bed. She gazed around the room; flummoxed, she looked down to study her own Quidditch robes. A sudden expression of comprehension crossed her face just as one of the two Beaters next to her stirred. Sadie's head snapped around to find the source of the noise and, upon seeing Mitch Cattrall, she screamed.

"_Him! _He – he cursed me! I saw the Snitch and was about to reach out and – _he used the Cruciatus Curse on me!"_ she concluded, shaking a finger at the boy and staring wildly around at the professors, expecting them to look shocked.

"I did no such thing!" Mitch Cattrall retorted, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. "What the bloody hell are you on, Kinsey?"

Luke Barnes groaned from Mitch's other side, throwing Sadie into another hysterical fit.

"And he – he _attacked_ me!" she shrieked, looking outraged that none of the teachers were making any attempts to cuff and gag the two culprits. "Came up behind me and whacked me across the head with his club, he did! Professor –" She rounded on McGonagall. "They're deranged, they should be locked up in Azkaban!"

Luke and Mitch quickly engaged in a ferocious shouting match with the Seeker. Once again, Hermione's suspicious were confirmed – neither of the two Beaters had any recollection of their actions at all. They seemed almost indignant that their own fellow player would accuse them of such horrid crimes.

"_Quiet!"_ Madam Lucille cried. The quarrelling Gryffindors promptly fell silent. "I'll have none of this arguing in _my_ infirmary! Now, take this – don't look at me like that, Kinsey, just drink up, there's a good girl –" She handed the students three separate cups of thick, purple liquid, and with a pang of realization, Hermione knew she had slipped Veritaserum into the drinks. Still glaring at one another, the Gryffindors downed the cups and immediately after, their faces fell slack.

"Wait, shouldn't they know they're going to be questioned?" Hermione asked McGonagall. "They have a right to know the truth about what went on during the match as well."

"They'll hear it now," McGonagall replied quietly. "They will know that their stories are genuine if heard while being controlled by Veritaserum. Don't worry, it is perfectly safe," she added at the look on Hermione's face. She slowly rose from her chair to stand at Sadie Kinsey's bedside.

"Miss Kinsey," she pronounced loudly and clearly. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," came a distant voice from the bed.

"Good. Now, tell me exactly what happened during the match after you saw the Snitch."

"Certainly, Professor," Sadie replied, smiling slightly. "I finally caught sight of the Snitch fluttering near DiLorenzo's left elbow – slimy Slytherin, she didn't see it at all" – Desdemona coughed faintly from the other side of the room, but Sadie continued as brightly as ever – "and I dived at her, and she tumbled out of the way. And believe it or not, the Slytherin Seeker wasn't around at all! I had a full, clear path to the Snitch! I was going to win the game for Gryffindor!" Sadie's voice was rising and growing more frantic as her smile quickly faded from her face. "But then Mitch and Luke came at me out of nowhere – I didn't even see them until I felt something smack against my head and nearly throw me off my broom. I looked around and there Luke was, his club raised high above his head and a crazed, hazy look in his eyes. I didn't know what to think; for a minute I thought a Bludger had hit me, but no, I knew it was Luke. Before I knew it, Mitch hurtled straight towards me, his club discarded and his wand pointed at me – and then – and that's when – and then he said – he said _Crucio_, right at me without a second thought."

The girl quickly broke off into small, wobbling sobs. McGonagall had been right, she was indeed traumatized by the incident, but it was no wonder; many wizards stronger than her had gone insane after being burdened with the Cruciatus Curse, and here she was, a mere fourteen-year-old. Then Hermione glanced at Harry, guilty for not remembering that he too had only been fourteen when struck with the curse. He was gazing at the girl with such empathy Hermione had never before seen.

"I thought I was going to die," Sadie continued. Her voice had lowered several notches and was now only above a whisper. Her eyes had an unfocused, haunted look, and she was staring across the room at a blank wall. "I _wanted_ to die, really. It's worse than death, I think. It's the worst feeling in the world – like a thousand knives being chucked at your body over and over, and all you do is pray that it will soon end. It lasted only a few seconds, and I can't imagine it ever lasting longer. I was almost grateful when it suddenly stopped and I was thrown from my broom. I must've passed out before I hit the ground, because I don't remember hitting anything solid."

"Did you see anything suspicious before you passed out?" McGonagall inquired. "Anyone you didn't recognize, perhaps?"

"I saw four Chasers charging at Mitch and Luke before I slipped off my broom," Sadie answered mistily. "I think – I'm pretty sure they were Stunned. But other than that, no, Professor. There was nothing suspicious."

McGonagall sighed, looking wearier than ever. "Thank you, Kinsey. That is all." She turned to Mitch Cattrall, who was staring fixedly at the floor and twiddling his thumbs. Sadie's story hadn't seemed to faze him at all. "Mr. Cattrall, please tell me – did you or did you not attack Miss Kinsey on your own free will?"

Mitch gazed at Professor McGonagall, looking only partially interested. "Of course _I_ didn't attack Sadie. I would never do that, annoying little prick she is sometimes."

Hermione seemed to be the only one who noticed his emphasis on the word _I_, and somehow, it intimidated her.

"You worked out a deal with Slytherin, didn't you?" Ron demanded suddenly, causing the Beater to jump and swivel his head round at him, having just noticed Ron. "They told you to knock Kinsey off her broom if she saw the Snitch so they could win. Clever plan, really. Nobody would've seen anything through the storm. But you forgot something, kid – _we're_ not that stupid. What was it? Galleons? Sickles? Homework answers? Free dungbombs?"

"Ron, shut up," Hermione hissed under her breath.

"Mr. Weasley, please!" McGonagall exclaimed. Ron looked angrily from Mitch, to Hermione, to Ginny and Desdemona (who were both giving him exceptionally nasty glares) and then to McGonagall. Upon seeing her expression, Ron's rapid breathing ceased and he muttered an almost inaudible, "Sorry."

Mitch laughed. "No, Professor," he said merrily. "I did nothing of the sort. I would never work out an agreement with those greasy gits, especially against my own Seeker." He looked concernedly at Ron. "Are you sure you're okay, sir?"

"You do realize the use of an Unforgivable Curse will only get you a one-way trip to Azkaban," Ron said firmly.

"I used a _what_?" Mitch cried, looking appalled.

"He didn't do it," Harry muttered to Hermione. "This is Veritaserum. He can't lie. He doesn't know what he did."

"Calm down, Cattrall," said McGonagall in a voice very close to her normally strict one. "You will be informed of this morning's events more thoroughly after you've had sufficient time to recover."

"It's like I said," Mitch remarked nonchalantly. "_I_ didn't attack Sadie."

"Wait a moment," Hermione interrupted. "What do you mean by that? What do you mean by '_I_ didn't attack Sadie'? Was somebody else we don't know about involved?"

Bella, Desdemona, and Ginny broke off into whispered discussion again behind Hermione. Ron gave an audible groan, Sadie looked over fairly interested, and Luke clucked his tongue. Harry and McGonagall, however, remained silent.

An odd expression passed over Mitch's face. He looked like he was caught between a frown and a rather malicious grin and began moving his mouth, although no words came out. Finally, the grin won, and he beamed at Hermione. Hermione, however, was unnerved. It wasn't an ordinary smile; it was really quite disturbing.

"Remarkable question, Professor," he said smoothly. "But you're smart, aren't you? You should be able to figure that one out for yourself."

"Answer her question, Cattrall," Harry said fiercely.

The grin was suddenly replaced by the frown again. Mitch closed his eyes, as if struggling with some internal conflict. Odd grunts issued from his mouth and his arms began shaking. "I didn't – it was – attacked –"

"What's he trying to say?" Desdemona asked weakly.

"Can't – it – I can't –" Mitch's eyes flew open and before anyone could get another word out of him, a shadow of the malevolent grin flitted across his face, and he passed out cold.

Ginny gave a muted yelp and backed into the shadows again. Madam Lucille rushed forward and placed her hand on the boy's forehead. "Still alive," she muttered to herself. "Too stressed – needs rest, he does –"

"Get more Veritaserum," Ron ordered aloud, swiveling around to Desdemona.

"I can't," she said as if she wished otherwise. "That was my last bottle. It takes a month to stew properly and another month to grow the correct ingredients, and I'm all out."

Ron gave a yell of frustration and fell back into his seat, glowering at Desdemona.

Hermione was absolutely frightened. Something had been wrong with the boy – she knew it from the moment he smirked at her. Veritaserum was a truth potion and forced its taker to tell nothing but the truth. Mitch wanted to tell her something important; it had been clear from the way he struggled with words. Someone, however, _didn't_ want him to. _Well, it looks like they succeeded_, she thought bitterly.

"He needs proper medical attention," said McGonagall in a composed yet quivering tone. "Professor Weasley, would you please contact St. Mungo's Hospital as quick as you can?"

Ginny nodded and ducked out the door, vanishing from sight.

"Was he – was he _possessed_, Professor?" Desdemona asked, staring at the boy with an open mouth but directing her question at McGonagall.

"No, I don't believe it was possession, though he certainly displayed the accurate symptoms. There are a number of possibilities, but as I am no doctor, I honestly cannot say."

"What about him?" Ron asked in a shaky voice. He pointed at Luke Barnes, who was staring at the ceiling with high curiosity.

"We've really gotten all the information we can," Hermione said quickly. "I don't think he'll be much help to us."

"Yes, but we might as well try," McGonagall said despairingly. She turned to Luke. "Mr. Barnes, did you strike Sadie Kinsey with your Beater's club?" she asked bluntly.

Luke shook his head, still gazing transfixed at the less-than-interesting ceiling.

"Did Mr. Cattrall attack the Seeker with the Cruciatus Curse?"

Luke shook his head again.

"You _did_ hit Kinsey with your club!" Ron exclaimed madly. "What are you playing at? Kinsey just told us what you did, and under Veritaserum too! This isn't adding up!"

"Well, it wasn't me who hit Sadie, if that's what you're asking," Luke said. Hermione was startled; these were the first words he had yet spoken.

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully. Mitch had gone into a fit of hysterics at this same question; she didn't want to be responsible for another student's insanity.

"Me and Mitch never attacked Sadie," Luke continued placidly, finally lowering his eyes from the ceiling to stare at Hermione.

"Are you saying someone else did?" Hermione pried.

"I don't know," Luke muttered.

"What's that?"

"I don't know," he repeated more loudly. "I can't say."

A shocked silence followed this announcement. "You have to say," Harry said disbelievingly. "You're under Veritaserum."

"I know," Luke said, only mildly concerned. "But I can't say anything."

"You'll tell us everything we want to know, Barnes!" said Ron. Hermione saw a mad glint in his eye as he reached for his wand stowed away in his pocket.

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall cried incredulously. "Please! If the boy knows nothing more then we cannot force what we want to know out of him!"

"He knows something," Ron said unsteadily. "He has something to say, he just won't –"

"Madam Lucille, I think now would be an appropriate time for some dreamless sleep," McGonagall said loudly, overriding Ron's ranting. "There is nothing more to question these students about. You may release Mr. Barnes back to class when you see fit, but I think I am right in suggesting you keep Kinsey in the hospital wing for a while longer."

The infirmary witch nodded and moved around to spoon yet another tonic into Sadie's mouth, causing her to gag and sputter. McGonagall stood from her chair and walked towards the door.

"Thank you for your assistance," she said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I do hope you will remember our discussions we had prior to the questioning. Please see me if you have anything at all to report. You are dismissed."

The trio shakily rose to their feet and marched out the door McGonagall was holding open. Desdemona and Bella, who were whispering once again, closely followed, and with a short _snap_, the door to the hospital wing closed.

The hallway was quite silent, but in the distance, Hermione could hear faint voices echoing around what was presumably the Great Hall. Checking her watch, she realized they had talked straight through lunch, but didn't mind anymore – oddly enough, her appetite had vanished.

Upon entering the Entrance Hall, the group that had walked wordlessly through the corridors of Hogwarts broke apart and went off in different directions. Hermione made to follow Harry and Ron to the staff room, but at that very moment students began filtering out from the Great Hall and the front doors flew open to reveal a line of witches and wizards dressed in professional white robes rush in, led by Ginny.

"They're taking Cattrall to St. Mungo's," she muttered to Hermione as they passed. Three stretchers magically floated at the end of the line behind a short, irritable-looking witch. Awed students watched the procession disappear up the grand steps before stumbling towards Hermione and immediately engulfing her in a sea of questions.

"Are those doctors, Professor Granger? Did someone die? Are they getting cremated?"

"Don't be stupid, you idiot, they're _Healers_, and we don't cremate like Muggles do."

"But _did_ someone die?"

"Where's my Seeker? I demand to know where my Seeker and Beaters are, I'm the Gryffindor captain, they're part of _my_ team!"

"It's Luke Barnes okay? We're supposed to go to Hogsmeade together, he promised!"

"I heard Kinsey sprouted frog legs and hopped away into the Forbidden Forest, is that true?"

Hermione's shouts of pleaded silence were ineffective. She desperately glanced at Harry and Ron, who were watching from the top of the stone steps, but Ron muttered something in Harry's ear and dragged him out of Hermione's sight. Furious, she began assigning weeklong detentions to anyone and everyone within a ten-foot distance.

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**Author's Notes, Edition Two:** Just as a second reminder to you all – don't forgot to submit your reviews! No, really, now. I am at a point in this story where I need your help. The plot is slowly being revealed and if it's all getting far too confusing, I need to know so I can fix it. Or, if it's just far too stupid… well, I need to know that as well. This could turn out to be a complete pile of garbage if I don't have insight from my readers!

Just one word to keep on your mind as you depart…

… REVIEW!


	14. An Early Departure

**Author's Notes:** I just know realized how totally ridiculous and unprofessional my little "[FLASHBACK]" things were. I don't know why the hell I included those brackets. A few comments managed to knock some sense into me, so I vow never to write flashbacks in such a patronizing manner again.

And for something different, this chapter is in… HARRY'S POV! It gets a bit tedious writing as Hermione after a while, you know, and Harry's just so unbelievably exciting, how could I pass up the opportunity? I hope I kept him mostly in character. He's twenty-three here, and the last time we saw him, he was fifteen, so if you think he's a bit OOC, then just blame it on character development.

I somehow was able to work in a couple significant hints to the plot in this chapter that you might want to store in your brain for future reference. _Very_ subtle, they are, so keep your eyes peeled. Just don't let them fall out.

Oh, and before I forget: go check out Siriusly Disturbed's story, **Ghostly Outcomes**, because I said so (and because she somehow managed to blackmail me into it).

**CrimsonEnchantress:** I think you're my new favorite person =) Seriously, your reviews are always so nice and so full of words of encouragement. You rock! And nope, the Beaters weren't possessed… but I bet you'll figure it out eventually.

**Moonypadfoot:** I'm so glad that you love having to figure things out. I myself love that in a fic too. I might use your suggestion about Harry and Kinsey for the next chapter; it didn't really fit into this one.

**Lady of Ankoku:** Could you elaborate on that theory about Parvati a bit? I'm interested to know what you think.

**Angelus cado:** Two words: plot angst. ::grins::

**Grimy Grunhilda Grunt:** Haha, I _do_ have a way to get myself out of this, whether you believe it or not. I was afraid everyone would figure it out really soon, because I thought I was making it really obvious, but… suppose not. That's good, though. Yes, I wish Hermione and Ron too could be "juming" – we'll save that for later chapters, I think.

**Thoroughbredchickie: **I like the way you're thinking about Desdemona. There may be more to her than you think, and on the other hand, I just may be handing out false information. You never know with me. Keep up the amazing thinking!

And now… The Chapter in Fantastic Harry's POV. Enjoy.

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**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: AN EARLY DEPARTURE**

A tinny, barely audible tapping broke the early Thursday morning silence of the peaceful dormitory, startling one of its two occupants. A golden-orange glow was just visible over the top of the Forbidden Forest, spilling light into the room and bathing a very confused, groggy man in dazzling colors. Swinging his legs over the side of his four-poster and reaching for his glasses, Harry Potter dragged his feet towards the window where a beady-eyed owl was hooting at him reproachfully.

"Who the blazes would send you out this early?" he muttered thickly to the owl, unlocking the window. It fluttered down onto the corner of Harry's bed, shaking the settled snow from its feathers and wriggling the letter clenched in its beak importantly.

Harry felt his stomach twist unpleasantly; that envelope was all too familiar. Taking in the scarlet color and the official seal on the back, he realized with yet another anxious pang that it was sent from none other than the Ministry of Magic. He crossed the room, feeling his legs weaken by the second, and retrieved the letter from the dignified owl. It hooted once more and hopped onto Ron's bed, pulling at his disheveled hair with mild interest.

Scanning the letter quickly (which was short and to the point), Harry half-expected it to be addressed to Ron, too; but no, it seemed to be directed only at him. He dropped onto his tangled mess of a bed, running his hands distractedly through his hair, torn between different thoughts and opinions and trying hard not to notice how his stomach seemed to have disappeared completely.

This was exactly the breakthrough he had been waiting for. In the beginning, the prospect of conducting investigations at Hogwarts school, miles away from being involved at the Ministry, had sent Harry into an enraged fury. How was he supposed to learn of any new information while being confined to the walls of the castle? There was always the _Daily Prophet,_ naturally, but at the Ministry, he was always the first to hear of anything important. Casting around for the right word, he realized he had felt somewhat… _useless_. Being an Auror was his life – not snooping around his old school, interrogating wizards of half his size and half his knowledge, and being informed of anything worthwhile hours after the rest of his peers. He only felt truly at peace with the world when he was doing his duty defending the innocent from the dangers still lurking out there, unbeknownst to most commoners.

But he hadn't refused the job; something in his subconscious, perhaps the more logical part, had told him that if he was wanted at Hogwarts, he needed to go. Ron might've been satisfied ("I'll take any excuse to go on vacation from that stuffy hell of an office," he had said, though Harry wasn't sure what office Ron was referring to, as he had never seen any Unspeakable offices in the Ministry) but he, Harry, felt restricted. Hordes of criminals were plaguing the world with their evil every minute, and all he could do was sit in the staff room of the school, playing a casual game of chess with Ron while discussing Puddlemere United's latest match against Australia.

Selfish thoughts had run endlessly through his mind, mostly things along the lines of, _I'm a top Auror, what's the Ministry playing at, sending me to Hogwarts? Isn't there someone else for this job?_ There were Dark wizards to be caught, perilous missions to embark on, rabid creatures to restrain, and yet here he was, surrounded by hundreds of children no less dangerous than venomous flobberworms. But his superiors had assured him his presence at Hogwarts was imperative and his duty would not be insignificant, and since Harry trusted them, he obliged and accepted the invitation to stay at Hogwarts.

Soon after he came to comprehend the reason why he was assigned to investigate the school, and his gloomy, reclusive thoughts were quickly replaced by alarmed, sharp ones. True, he sorely yearned to be in the heart of the Ministry again, but there was something amiss at Hogwarts and amongst the students, perhaps something a bit bigger than anyone else had yet realized…

And here it was in writing, as clear as a crystal ball (or the ones Harry gazed into, at any rate). Not only were things muddled at Hogwarts, things were muddled out in the wizarding world as well, and the Ministry was finally running after him, summoning him back. _It's only for a few days_, Harry reminded himself, his eyes reverting back to the letter. _I'm needed at Hogwarts. It won't be long. Don't get your hopes up._

The tawny owl hooted again at Harry from Ron's bed, its eyes round and critical. Glaring at it, Harry tossed the letter onto his bedside table and muttered in its direction, "All right, I'm going. You don't have to look at me like that."

The owl took flight and disappeared out the open window, flying towards the lake, which was now glistening with sunlight. Harry threw on the closest pair of robes, vaguely aware he had just been speaking to an owl, and looked recklessly around the floor for a comb. Finding one stashed under his bed, he attempted to flatten the growing mess atop his head, wanting to look somewhat respectable upon reappearing at the Ministry.

There was no need for any type of luggage; Aurors were constantly called away at all hours of the day, never expected to bring along anything more than their wand and their dedication. Glancing at his watch, Harry realized it was barely past seven in the morning; he was longing for a quick cup of coffee before Apparating to the Ministry but was not in the mood to confront anyone in the staff room.

He started for the door, checking that his wand was secure inside his robes, and stopped upon touching the handle as a loud snore emitted from somewhere on the other side of the room. For a brief moment, he contemplated why Ron hadn't been called to the Ministry as well; he was indeed helpful with his knowledge gained from working in the Department of Mysteries for so many years. He hesitated; in a few hours' time, Ron would awake and wonder where his roommate had disappeared to, and perhaps he would be consoled if Harry left a quick note… but the summons had said word for word, _Do not tell anyone of your whereabouts. In a worst-case scenario, be prepared to disarm those who get in your way. Your departure from Hogwarts is not something the entire school needs to know of_. For reasons unknown to Harry, the Ministry was not keen on the idea of him boasting about a quick exit in the early hours of the morning. He swiftly seized the Ministry's letter from his bedside with a flick of his wand and, clenching it tightly in his left palm, departed stealthily from his dorm.

Snores drifting up and down the corridor suggested that the other staff members were deep in dreams of their own. Harry tiptoed towards the staircase, careful to dodge the floorboards known to squeak and announce his location. Faded sunlight was beginning to reach the windows surrounding him, casting odd shadows against the walls of a tall, disfigured-looking shape sneaking down the stone steps.

Harry finally dared to breathe again once he reached the empty staff room. Books were stacked here and there on random tables and chairs were pulled out, looking as if their former occupants hadn't bothered to replace them properly. Grateful of the room's vacancy, Harry crossed to the drinks in the corner and began pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. The mug was barely touching his lips when a small noise from behind him made him start; his hand slipped and the cup went crashing to the ground.

Apparently, he wasn't alone after all.

He whirled around with surprising speed and agility, his hand already clenching his wand and pointing it at the perpetrator in his midst. What Harry had mistaken for a pile of parchments and an old cloak at a nearby table was actually a person, having just woken from their doze at the sound of the tinkling china. The familiar face was gazing at him with a look of half surprise and half exasperation and it took Harry ten more seconds than necessary to register in his mind who the person staring back at him was.

"Why are you pointing that thing at me?"

Hermione checked her watch and began gathering the books and papers at her desk. With an enormous sigh, Harry lowered his wand and stuck it back inside his robes, apologizing for rounding on her with it in the first place. "Can't be too careful," he explained. Hermione only rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "_Aurors._"

"What are you doing down here?" said Harry.

"I could ask you the very same thing," Hermione said suspiciously.

"I'm – nothing."

With an accusing look, Hermione sighed and checked her watch again. "I was up late last night grading papers. Honestly, the stupid things some of these students write, I really wonder whether their last Transfiguration teacher actually taught or just played Exploding Snap all lesson. Guess I must've dozed off halfway through, which is just awful; I promised my sixth years I would hand back their tests by today." She broke off into a wide yawn and Harry was distantly reminded of a younger Hermione who would study rather than sleep for weeks at a time.

"Now I've told you what I'm doing here, so you tell me."

"I was going – I was getting a cup of coffee," Harry replied truthfully.

Hermione fixed him with a steely gaze that clearly suggested she suspected foul play. Harry found himself cowering under her stare and, unable to bear the thought of lying to his best friend, finally cracked.

"All right," he muttered furiously. "You can't say a word to anyone, not even Ron. I'm not supposed to say anything, but…" He glanced around as if expecting someone to pop up from underneath a table. When he was sure they were completely alone, he whispered, "I've been called away on official Auror duty for a couple days – just a couple days!" he emphasized upon seeing Hermione's face drop. "It's – I can't really say anything, I'm sorry, the letter was really vague itself –"

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, looking as if she was biting her tongue. "You don't think… I mean, it's possible, but… you don't think the Ministry's found out about what's going on here, do you?"

Harry had to bite his own tongue from spilling the contents of the entire letter to Hermione. "No, it isn't anything like that. I'm sure they don't know anything, Hermione. Don't worry about it. Just keep a watch over the place while I'm gone, okay? Don't let Gryffindor lose a Quidditch game again," he added with a wry smile. Obviously, Hermione didn't find it amusing.

"Is something the matter? Besides the fact our school's going mad, I mean. Nothing –" She cast a glance around, beginning to tremble slightly. "Nothing _dark_ is going on, is it?"

It pained Harry to lie to her so, especially when she had as much right to know as anyone else. Swallowing his concern, he reminded himself that Aurors where people of few words and were not expected to brag about their duties. He knew Hermione was trustworthy, of course, but there were ways for others to unexpectedly overhear. "No, it's all fine, don't worry," he repeated, clenching his teeth and forcing a strained smile.

Hermione didn't look thoroughly convinced but heaved a great sigh nonetheless. "Well, if you say so, Harry. Just owl me if you need anything. And do hurry back, won't you?"

Harry nodded and repaired his shattered teacup, filled it with coffee once more, took a few sips, then discarded the empty mug and started towards the door.

"See you," he muttered.

Unpredictably, Hermione lunged forward and threw her arms around Harry's neck. He staggered backwards, bumping his head against the solid door and wincing, before he was able to pry her off and hold her at arm's length.

"Harry, _please_ be careful," she begged, her eyes big and shining with tears. "It's really dangerous what you do, and I've read stories about Aurors who go away, expected to turn up a few days later, and they go missing for _years_…"

"I'll be back soon," Harry told her somewhat guiltily. "Really, everyone's okay. Don't tell anyone where I've gone, though, or I could really get into trouble."

Hermione nodded and bade him goodbye, disappearing up the stone staircase, her arms laden with books and quills.

Unsure of whether or not he had the privileges to Apparate inside the castle, Harry silently made his way through the vast corridors and over the soggy, dewy morning lawns. He was a full ten feet away from the winged gates before, taking giant breath and inhaling the frostiness of the day, he concentrated on appearing in the midst of the hectic Ministry of Magic.

And with a reverberating _pop_, where there once stood an apprehensive, fully grown wizard, now stood nothing.

After several unpleasant moments of whirling through an ethereal void, Harry was thrown forward with such force that he slammed head-on into a hard, rock wall. Rubbing the top of his head gingerly and re-focusing his eyes, he realized that he had Apparated into the hallway leading towards the large group conference rooms. He was quite thankful he hadn't popped up elsewhere; appearing suddenly with no warning in places such as the Atrium was rather a foolish thing to do (the witch that had Apparated on top of the hippogriff going in for a hearing suffered a subsequent week of distress in St. Mungo's, how could anyone forget?). Thursday mornings were among the busiest at the Ministry, and yet Harry was surprised to find the corridor completely unoccupied.

He barely had a moment to contemplate where exactly he should set off to when a door down the hall flew open, banging against the wall behind it. A very frazzled-looking face stuck its head out, yelling angrily at someone concealed inside the room that Harry could not see.

"Shut up, will you, Burns? I'm very aware of Decree Fifty-Nine for whatever the hell, you don't need to remind me!" Mad-Eye Moody hissed, and Harry found himself sympathizing for the person on the receiving end of Moody's anger. The aging Auror swung his head around, his magical eye swiveling madly in its socket, until he spotted Harry massaging his head some ten feet away.

"There you are, boy," he muttered, beckoning Harry forward. "You're late, we've been waiting for you to get this damn meeting underway. Come on now, follow me in…"

Harry obliged and staggered in after Moody, realizing he had never been in this particular conference room before. The ones they usually used were ordinary – a round table and innumerable chairs were usually stuffed into a wood-paneled room with a dim lamp hanging from the ceiling overhead. He didn't care much what their rooms looked like; it was the information being presented that mattered. Still, Harry couldn't stop his eyes from wandering. The conference room he had walked into was much larger (perhaps due to the fact that more Aurors were present than normal) with very deep, rich mahogany walls. A wizard with an expression of indifference was prodding the grand chandelier hanging above the table with his wand, watching in boredom as it swung back and forth, threatening to crash down on the wizards assembled at any moment. The chairs looked noticeably more comfortable than the hard-backed, rigid ones Harry was used to, and he found himself yearning to fall onto one and put their looks to the test himself. But as magnificent as the room itself was, Harry couldn't help noticing the odd feeling lingering in the air. He heard a small _click_ of the door behind him and, turning around impulsively, saw that, strangely enough, there was neither a lock nor a handle on the door. And he suddenly realized what the feeling was – secrecy.

"All right, let's get this started, then," Moody growled, pulling up a chair for Harry and setting himself in a neighboring one. "Lysander, you stop sticking your wand where it doesn't belong; I'll confiscate it if you prod that chandelier one more time." The young wizard toying with the chandelier guiltily lowered his hand, stuffing his wand away into his robes.

Harry found his eyes wandering around the room again, but instead of taking in the room's décor, he was taking in its occupants. He recognized several of the Aurors, of course – Moody, for starters; Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom he had known since he was a child at Hogwarts; and Nymphadora Tonks, the witch a few years older than himself who he had known just as long and who was now sporting shockingly purple hair. She winked at Harry fondly.

Steven Burns, a mid-forties man with an abnormally large mouth, was ranting and raving to the witch seated next to him about something Harry couldn't quite catch. Burns had a tendency to ramble on about a wide range of tedious subjects to anyone within earshot (none of them ever listening to a word of it). The witch, who Harry knew as Romina Celestino, was twiddling with her wand, staring unfocusedly at the ceiling and looking like she would've rather liked to hex Burns. Romina originally had been sent from the Italian Ministry of Magic to assist the British Aurors in the chase of several deranged Muggle-killers three years ago and, finding that she liked England so much, decided to stay permanently. Many of the Aurors were drawn to Romina, and Harry could see why; with her dark complexion and chin-length bronze hair, she could easily be the target of many a man's affections. Harry, however, found himself being fond of Romina in only a brotherly sort of fashion. He would never forget the wild expeditions they embarked upon together two years before to Eastern Asia, tracking a group of dragon smugglers. Romina caught sight of Harry and, stowing her wand away with a brief look of reluctance, grinned.

Two other Aurors, Grey Deckers and Dominic McAllister, also smiled and waved to Harry. Slightly younger than most of the group, the two wizards were almost always happy and cheerful, always wanting a new assignment and always willing to assist as much as possible. Dominic had a nasty slash under his left eye that was a reminder to everyone in the room of how brave he had been facing a venomous horde of goblins several months ago alone and managing to disarm them all and escape alive. Harry had never seen such a man with so much spirit before.

On Dominic McAllister's other side was Basil Hardy, an Auror with graying hair and a countless number of scars on his face to rival even Moody's. Basil was a man of few words and was very involved with the Department of Mysteries; Ron spoke dotingly of the man every so often, telling Harry that he had never met a man of more intelligence.

The last Auror, Brom Lysander, was seated on Harry's right. The one who had been told off for poking at the chandelier, Lysander was the youngest of the group and possibly the most reckless. Never able to pass up a good joke, he reminded Harry very much of Ron's older brothers Fred and George – he was just better at being careless and better at being annoying. Yet Harry was amazed at what an asset Brom was to the Ministry; aside from being immature and irksome, he was simply superb putting together clues and, in the end, throwing Dark wizards into Azkaban.

The group of Aurors quieted promptly under Moody's gaze, all waiting expectantly for him to make the first move.

"There's no need to record who showed up and who didn't," Moody said. "Because as far as anyone else is concerned, this meeting is not taking place."

"Alastor, perhaps you should explain why," Tonks pointed out briskly, pushing a rebellious stand of violet hair out of her eyes.

"Like I said, no one else is to know we're here," said Moody, looking significantly around at everyone in attendance. "We've put charms on the door to keep it locked from intruders. I don't think it would be a very good idea to be interrupted. The Ministry likes to go through the records of our meetings, and the record of _this_ meeting isn't something they should know about."

"What's going on?" Harry asked boldly. "My letter was really vague, is it something that –"

"Tell Potter, Moody," Basil Hardy said quietly. "The rest of us know and since he's been up at that school, he's been a bit in the dark. Tell him so we can get this stupid thing going."

Moody sighed and turned to Harry. "Don't think we haven't got it under control," he began, eying Harry warily and loosing his harsh tone of voice for a moment (something that turned Harry's stomach, making him realize the magnitude of whatever situation they were facing). "Well, I mean – we don't _really_ have it under control," he added, glancing at Tonks. "That's why we called you. But it isn't anything serious yet."

Harry knew what Moody was doing – he was trying to soften him up a bit first and then break the news to him so that he wouldn't completely loose his head. The rest of the group was looking at him as if silently pleading for him to keep his voice down – were they _all_ expecting him to completely explode?

"What's going on?" he repeated, getting irritated from the looks he was receiving from his fellow Aurors.

"Bellatrix Lestrange has been spotted," Moody said seriously. "Out somewhere in bloody Germany, of all places. You know they're not too keen on helping us right now after we banned the trade of Chimaera eggs."

"What?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. "But – I thought – I thought she was _dead_ or something –"

"Yeah, so did we," Romina said with an expression of disgust. "We were just stupid enough to believe she was actually gone for good. But that isn't all of it. A few more Death Eaters who we haven't heard from since the downfall of their loving master have suddenly appeared across the continent –"

"Oh, don't forget, that one bloke was spotted in Russia," Dominic commented.

"Yes, thank you," Romina replied icily. "Can't forget those damn Russians, what a lot of good they're doing right now, spreading around the word that we're all crazy for thinking the Dark Lord's finally disappeared."

"Forget those idiots," Steven said, cutting off Romina and earning another frosty glare. "They're all talk and no action. Pathetic when it actually _comes down to it_, if you ask me."

"Excuse me," Moody said, clearing this throat. "I do believe we're getting off topic. We can save the Russians for another time."

"So have the Death Eaters taken any action?" Harry asked, unsure of whether he wanted to hear the answer or not. "Have there been any killings? Anything at all?"

Tonks shook her head and grimaced bitterly. "No, but an inside source has notified us that they have plans, all right. Taking refuge up in Greece at the moment, I believe. We sent some men to investigate but haven't heard back from them yet."

"_We_ need to take action first," Romina said. "If the Ministry finds out, it'll be a mess. Of course, it will give them something else to worry about. You know, instead of trying to work their way into the problems at Hogwarts," she said pointedly at Harry. "How's that coming, anyway?"

"Er – superb," Harry muttered. A few people chuckled half-heartedly.

"Yeah, we know, Harry," Brom Lysander remarked airily, fiddling with his wand again. Blue bubbles were spurting from the end, making small popping noises every few seconds. Moody was glaring daggers at him, but he didn't seem to notice. "We know everything. Doing a really nice job up there, you are."

"Stuff it, Lysander," Romina snarled.

"Romina's right," said Grey from across the table. "Something needs to be done before the Ministry gets involved, it'll just be a fiasco if they do. And that's not even considering what destruction the Death Eaters themselves are planning. Probably world domination this time, or something."

There was a great deal of nodding and agreement around the table.

"But what's their motive?" said Harry. He was slowly becoming frustrated; was this all the information the Aurors had? That Bellatrix Lestrange and a few fellow Death Eaters had been spotted? They hardly knew where they were and were also as clueless as to their scheming.

"We don't know yet, Harry," Tonks said slowly, exchanging a glance with Moody. "It isn't very coincidental that a group of murderous Death Eaters have all decided to nicely come out of hiding at the same time. If Bellatrix Lestrange is involved, it has to be something big."

"Lestrange was first spotted in Turkey," Dominic commented, unrolling a long piece of parchment on top of the table. It turned out to be an enchanted map of Europe; small dots were moving across the countries slowly and others seemed to be stationary. He pointed to the shape labeled _TURKEY_ and trailed his finger along to Greece. "They're moving westward, see here? It's been a pattern. We aren't sure where they're headed, really."

"Ultimately, we need to catch them," Romina said rather unnecessarily, as Harry had already figured so. "It'll be quite the job, though. Azkaban will hold them, of course, the problem's just tracking them down and getting them there."

"But someone spotted them!" Harry cried. His mind was getting jumbled from too much information in too short a time; he was unable to work it all out and began acting on instinct. "Obviously they aren't hiding _too_ well if they've been seen!"

"No, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke up. "You're missing the point. They _wanted_ to be seen. They let a random person catch glimpse of them on purpose, to let us know they have indeed returned. This is something we should have expected of Bellatrix Lestrange."

"If they were brave enough to appear publicly, then they've definitely got something up their sleeves," said Dominic.

"Or maybe it was a foolish act on their part," Brom suggested, now floating the blue bubbles around Moody's head, much to his aggravation.

"No," Romina snapped at the young wizard. "Lestrange is much too clever to do something so foolish. No, it wasn't an accident… they're planning something…" She trailed off thoughtfully, staring with mild interest at Dominic's map. Harry followed her gaze and his eyes fell on _GREECE_ again; three tiny dots with illegible names were stationed inside the miniscule country.

"Potter," Moody said crossly, jolting Harry back into reality.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, are you ready, Potter?"

The room was silent as the Aurors all stared expectantly at Harry, who blinked. "Erm – ready for what?"

Brom dissolved into silent snickers and was only silenced by a swift kick to the shins from Romina.

"Ready to go to Greece, of course," Moody replied.

Harry's heart leapt – he was actually going to track down Dark wizards, and just thinking about it, it had only been an hour ago that he was still at Hogwarts, not expecting this in the very least. _This is it_, he told himself. This was what he lived for, what was _worth_ living for. With another jolt of anxiousness, he found several other people rising out of their chairs.

"Celestino, Lysander, and McAllister will be assisting you, Potter," Moody told him. "We can't all go at once, people will start to get suspicious. Don't worry, you'll only be gone for a few days; Celestino, you know when to Apparate back," he told Romina, who nodded importantly. "Your absence will be explained thoroughly, so don't bother making up your own alibis. Send an owl before you depart home but contain no information that would be valuable if the owl were to be intercepted, understand?"

The four of them nodded and as Romina, Brom, and Dominic moved to the shadows in the corner of the room, Harry followed. His excitement was mounting by the minute. In less than a few minutes, he would be thousands of miles away in Greece, tracking a group of highly lethal Death Eaters. He almost couldn't stand the exhilaration.

"Good luck, Harry!" Tonks called warmheartedly. Several others nodded their heads in Harry's direction, the barest of smiles just visible on their faces.

"Yes, good luck to you all, and mind your recklessness," Moody said gruffly, shuffling the Aurors along. "Try not to get yourself killed, right, Potter? You're still needed back at Hogwarts," he added in an undertone to Harry. Harry nodded in understanding, bearing Moody's last words in his mind.

"On my count," Romina muttered once the four of them were assembled in the corner, their backs to the remaining Aurors. "Ready? One, two, three –"

And with another resounding _pop_, the room was suddenly devoid of four less people.

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**Author's Notes:** Here's a question about as off-topic as possible – has anyone ever heard/listened to Maroon 5? I think they're an American band, so I dunno if you British/Canadians have heard of them. They freaking rock, really. Just thought I should let you all know. For future reference. =)


	15. The Distraction

**Author's Notes:** I never, in all my years of existence (fourteen – quite a lot), expected to reach two-hundred reviews on this story (because I've been planning this out since I was born, of course). And yet here we are, a mere three reviews away from reaching that beautiful, beautiful point I like to call "The Happy Point". I know you all won't let me down.

Glad you all liked a little break from Hermione's POV last chapter to visit the fascinating world that is inside Harry's head. He was a fun little boy to write. But we've returned to Hermione know, and don't you dare complain, because no one wants Hermione to feel unloved. Especially Ron.

**Lady of Ankoku: **That is a _very_ interesting and logical theory; thanks for sharing it with me! Unfortunately, Parvati does not make any live appearances in this story. But this only rejoices me; I am throwing you all so far off track. And that's a good thing.

**JediPirateElfyDude:** I'm afraid that I might be forced to ban you from reviewing if you don't stop being so damn perceptive. You're just going to give away my entire plot brewing up theories like that. But, thankfully, I am not to the point of banning you, so you are still able to review your heart out. =)

**CrimsonEnchantress:** Ahh, yet another speculation so, so far off track. You all delight me. Nice guessing, though. And I'd be glad to give you advice, I'm just not sure how… this all comes so naturally for me, I just write what comes to mind and it always turns out rather nicely. Hm. Well, if I think of any pointers for you, I will most definitely send you an e-mail.

**Siriusly Disturbed: **"M. Harry. Yay." Well said.

**Yellow notepaper:** You can become a Prefect in sixth year? Honestly? I know it came from JK herself, but how's that possible? If you're going to be one, you're chosen in your fifth year, and then you obviously finish your years at Hogwarts still being a Prefect, right? So how could they add in another Prefect in sixth year (when the choosing year is only the fifth)? Unless a Prefect got fired or something… haha, I would _love_ to see Malfoy get fired… "We're letting you go, Malfoy, and are revoking your nice, lovely badge. Hand it over. Hand over the badge, Malfoy. Don't make us get physical." Yeah. Okay. Well, that's interesting, but explains a great deal of my confusion about your story. Now I am set on the idea of Malfoy getting fired…

**Thoroughbredchickie:** Personally, I love Desdemona, whether or not she is evil. And I'm not saying if she is or not.

**Why the Rum is Gone:** Of course Ron's idiocy is magnified a hundred times since the story is from Hermione's POV, but he _is_ being a bit of a jerk. Guess I'm just a sucker for drama. I _really _must stop watching those daytime soaps…

And to everyone who commented back about Maroon 5… you rock. You freaking rock.

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**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE DISTRACTION **

It took Hogwarts a full day to notice that The Boy Who Lived had suddenly disappeared from their midst. Hermione kept true to her promise and said not a word of Harry's mysterious departure to anyone, despite the countless times skeptical people had quizzed her mercilessly. She had all but stormed out of her fourth year Transfiguration class the second time she was hounded with questions from them; the rest of her classes were nearly as awful. The students, however, were only part of the problem. In the past, the staff room had proved to be a quiet sanctuary when Hermione was suffering from fits of irritation, but she could hardly pour herself a cup of coffee without saying, "I don't know where Harry's gone, now stop badgering me before I hex you into next week," several times to her fellow professors.

Honestly, she couldn't understand what all the hype was about. Surely professors from Hogwarts had taken quick leaves before, perhaps due to family tragedies or illnesses. It was certainly understandable. So why were Hogwarts and all its occupants so keen on such juicy gossip?

_Because it's Harry Potter_, Hermione had reminded herself.

Still, Hermione couldn't walk through the corridors without seeing animated students chattering loudly about Harry's absence. Even though she had a sneaking notion that McGonagall also knew of his whereabouts (particularly due to her suspicious obliviousness to the fact that Harry was indeed missing), Hermione herself remained the only one in Hogwarts who accurately knew the true story. Unimaginable rumors and theories were flying faster than Snitches around the school, and somehow the stories managed to filter into her own classroom, much to her vexation.

"Did you hear? Harry Potter wandered into the Forbidden Forest the other night –" a Ravenclaw was telling a tight knit of fellow sixth years during Hermione's first class the morning after Harry's disappearance.

"No, he was _sleep-walking_, you idiot!"

"Sorry – yeah, well, he stumbled across a nest of graphorns and –"

"Graphorns don't live in the Forest, the giants only use those things!"

"_Will you shut up_? Anyway, he walked right into a nest of graphorns and, well, you can guess the rest…"

Hermione had been so irked that she promptly drew fifteen points away from Ravenclaw, despite a tumultuous wave of groaning from the House, scolding the student in question for passing around such untruthful tales about a person who would never be so stupid as to 'sleep-walk' into the Forbidden Forest. Needless to say, the sixth years were unnaturally subdued the rest of the lesson.

Other ridiculous theories Hermione was forced to endure included Harry jumping out his window and running away to an island out at sea, Harry being held captive by the merpeople at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake (Hermione actually caught a group of second year girls staring worriedly into the depths of the water on their way to a Herbology lesson), Harry being abducted by a half-alien half-hippogriff mob, and the ever-popular Harry leaving to pursue a clan of Irish vampires fanatical about sucking the blood from kelpies. Hermione had trouble deciding which theory was closest to the truth.

When she wasn't busy telling gossiping students off for being disruptive, she was mulling over the nature of Harry's strange exit herself. She couldn't help but be worried, of course. Harry had been extremely vague as to where he was going and what was happening, which was exasperatingly unhelpful. He had guaranteed her that it was nothing to fret over, but she knew better than to let his mask of exuberance assure her. Something was wrong indeed, and Hermione was positive of it, whether Harry would tell her the truth or not.

_But what _is _it?_ Hermione pondered incessantly. She could only hope the Ministry wasn't just calling Harry back for a nice little chat about why they hadn't been informed in detail of the continuous happenings at Hogwarts. But something told her this was not the case, and Harry had been summoned for a reason much less trivial. Could it somehow, possibly involve Dark wizards? Death Eaters? Hermione quickly brushed the thought away, not willing to believe it, and a distant, convincing voice inside her own head reassured her that if something of the sort was occurring, it would've been all over the papers.

She also feared he would never return; he seemed awfully confident that he would come back to Hogwarts in only a few days' time. But Harry was an Auror, and an Auror's work was as unpredictable as the future. He could ultimately be away for weeks, or months, or even – Hermione couldn't think that far, it was too painful. Then, naturally, there was the _risk_ of the job, the chance that Harry would never return at all and would instead turn up dead in some swamp on the other side of the world –

"Professor Granger?" asked the timid voice of a second-year student, shocking Hermione back to reality. She suddenly took in her surroundings and remembered it was the second day after Harry's baffling disappearance, and she was standing at the front of her Transfiguration classroom with her wand pointed at a gray teacup on her desk.

"Erm, Professor, you've been – you've been pointing your wand at that teacup for five minutes. Aren't you going to transfigure it?"

Hermione drew in a shuddering breath and straightened, regaining her composure. The class was gazing at her concernedly, and unable to picture herself staring glossy-eyed at the ceiling for several minutes while she was supposed to be teaching her students basic Transfiguration, she brushed the tea cup into a drawer hastily. "I think we'll leave the lesson here for today. You may talk amongst yourselves until… until the bell rings. That is all."

Silently scolding herself for getting lost in the depths of her own thoughts during quite an important lesson, Hermione gathered her folders and books as the bell rang and her last class of the day quickly darted from the room, shooting worried looks at their professor before they fled out the door.

The halls were alive with delight at the end of another school day. Hermione passed through them swiftly, dodging students keen on racing their mates to the Great Hall for dinner. Her stomach was a bottomless pit of nothing and her throat felt as if it had swelled to five times its normal size – how was Hermione going to shove any food down like that? Quickly coming to the decision to skip dinner, she averted her path and made her way up to the staff room which, for once, would be peacefully vacant.

Slowly, the tranquility of Hermione's refuge began ebbing away as the Hogwarts professors reappeared in the staff room, some merry and thankful they wouldn't have to see their wretched students for another good fifteen hours, and some gloomy and morose at the thought of spending half the night grading homework. Hermione's thoughts had once again been on Harry – this time, she had forcefully been reminding herself that Harry should have reappeared by now – but she quickly pushed them to the back of her mind and drew a thick wad of parchment from her bag, ready to busy herself in her own grading to keep the thoughts from returning.

No sooner had Hermione lowered her quill to mark the first paper did someone take the empty seat across from her. She had her wand stored inside her robes and was willing to curse her visitor if they began throwing Harry-related questions her way, but instead a calming, female voice, one Hermione was very grateful to hear, spoke.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up to see an anxious Ginny staring at her intently. She sighed but did not lower her quill, responding with, "Yes, I'm fine," while continuing to mark out the careless mistakes on the essay. Ginny, however, did not relent.

"You are not," she snapped uncharacteristically. "Don't lie to me, Hermione. I know when you're brooding over something. And it's Harry, isn't it? You're worried about him."

Hermione clenched her teeth; Ginny was sometimes too smart for her own good, a Weasley trait she had grown accustomed to. There was no use disguising her morbid thoughts to her friend. Oftentimes, she wondered if Ginny could read her mind.

"Yes, you're right," she said with a sigh, setting her quill down slowly and forcing her eyes to meet Ginny's.

"Is it Harry?"

Hermione nodded. "And the incredibly ludicrous rumors going around – have you heard the one about Harry being mauled by Acromantulas? I'm at my wit's end trying to put a stop to them all; they're really starting to get to me, really –"

"I'm sure Harry's fine," Ginny said softly, quieting Hermione and cutting off her ranting. "He would never lie to hurt you – you do know that, right? And he's a great Auror, one of the best. He isn't stupid enough to get himself killed. He knows he needs to come back to Hogwarts."

Hermione smiled. It was times like these that Ginny felt like a sister to her, and she couldn't even begin to voice how appreciative she was. It was amazing how a few simple words could lift her heart and take a burden off her shoulders. Ginny was right, after all; Harry was a grown man who could take care of himself. And besides, he had gone so many years already without getting killed, right? So what was one more mission?

And before she knew it, she and Ginny were off discussing their holiday plans – both of them had decided on staying at the school, Hermione's excuse being that she was needed to keep an eye on the remaining students, and Ginny saying that she had a mountain of papers to plow through. Hermione was wiser than to take Ginny's excuse truthfully; she knew her friend was staying to comfort her, and the gratitude in her chest swelled to a maximum.

Some time later, when the sun had set behind the trees in the distance and the fresh moon was casting a pale blue light through the staff room windows, Ginny departed for the night and disappeared up to bed. Hermione remained behind with a majority of the other professors, all of whom were scribbling away frantically in an attempt to finish some final grading before the end of the term. The Transfiguration teacher was among these procrastinators, absently reading through essay after essay, lowering her quill every now and then to mark out a misspelling or an inaccurate fact. Her eyes began to droop and she found herself yawning continuously; she strongly desired a nice cup of coffee, but feared all the caffeine she had been consuming would soon begin to take its toll on her…

"Hey, Granger," said a voice in her ear, startling Hermione and causing her to spill ink over her current essay. With an irritated growl, she quickly cleaned up the parchment with a simple spell, turning to face the owner of the voice.

Braedon Keleher, the flying professor, was sauntering around Hermione's table, his face contorted into a smirk. Hermione fought the impulse to roll her eyes; she had met Braedon one morning at breakfast following the Quidditch incident (after he had recovered from his mysterious illness) and immediately took to disliking the man. Young, good-looking, and athletic, he was the kind of person always desired for in those Muggle movies Hermione's mum used to watch – but in the end, he would always turn out to be a horrible creep. Braedon Keleher had the thought pounded into his head that he could win anything and anyone with that awful, charming smirk of his (or what he _thought_ was charming). Everyone else, of course, knew better.

"What do you want, Braedon?" Hermione asked reluctantly. The Quidditch enthusiast's grin widened even more as he leaned against the table, pushing Hermione's stack of books aside to make room for his elbows.

"Holidays are coming up, you know," he said smoothly. "The students will all be gone… the castle will be empty… what do you say to a drink in the Three Broomsticks Christmas afternoon, on me?"

"I'm dreadfully sorry," Hermione replied, marking out half the essay with furious hand movements while keeping her voice sickly sweet. "But I believe I would rather spend Christmas in the company of a particularly hideous troll."

Desdemona, who was sitting in the corner, let out a conspicuous snort.

Braedon appeared completely unfazed and edged slightly closer to Hermione. She could smell the repulsive cologne on his neck and attempted to choke down a gag.

"Oh, come now, Hermione," he murmured, plucking the quill from Hermione's hand and tossing it across the table. "What better way to spend such a jolly holiday than with _me_? A stroll through Hogsmeade, just the two of us, no brats around to spoil our fun…"

"Those _brats_ are expecting graded essays tomorrow," Hermione said flatly. "Kindly give me back my quill."

"You work much too hard," Braedon said quietly, having no intention on handing back Hermione's quill. "Such a shame, really. Someone needs to teach you how to lighten up a bit, and I think I'm just the person you've been looking for. Lucky you."

It was Hermione's turn to snort; she could hardly believe the words coming out of this desperate, foolish man's mouth. Nearby professors were completely neglecting their work, inclining their heads towards Hermione's table to catch the conversation. Hermione couldn't suppress a grin; as insolent as it was, she got an odd satisfaction from seeing Braedon Keleher publicly humiliated by a woman.

"Yes, lucky me," she muttered sardonically. Either Braedon was extremely sly or extremely thick, Hermione didn't know, but he beamed nonetheless and clapped his hands together gleefully.

"So that settles it, then?" he asked, edging ever closer, a grin plastered across his flawless face. "We're on for a little date Christmas afternoon? Now, tell me –" To Hermione's utter horror, he reached out a hand towards her hair. "Was it my exceptional good looks that won you over, or my persuasive fluency?"

"No, it was your stupidity, you moron," interjected an angry voice.

Hermione and Braedon both jerked their heads around, Braedon looking crestfallen at being interrupted so rudely. Ron had suddenly appeared behind Hermione, his arms laden with books and papers and his eyes narrowed fiercely in Braedon's direction, who jumped up, backing away from the table. Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest; Ron, whether intentional or accidentally, had just come to her rescue, saving her from spending a dreadful Christmas day with an even more dreadful person.

_Wait a moment,_ piped up a diminutive voice in the back of Hermione's head. _Ron?_

"Ex – excuse me – I don't believe I heard you correctly," Braedon said smoothly, quickly disguising his shocked countenance with one of obliviousness.

"Yeah, you did," Ron replied, shoving Braedon towards the staircases leading to the dorms. "And so did the rest of the room. Now get out of here and don't you ever harass anybody like that again." Like a puppy with his tail between his legs, Braedon skidded across the room and flew up the stairs.

"And the date's off!" Ron roared after him, only to be answered by the distant yet perceivable slam of a door. He turned back to the silent and still staff room, all of the professors having totally disregarded their work by now. There wasn't a single pair of eyes not watching him and Hermione.

"What are you all looking at? Your papers aren't going to grade themselves!"

With much grumbling and shuffling of parchment, the professors returned to their own work, casting curious glances at Ron every so often. Some even looked rather frightened. Hermione glanced to her right and found Desdemona grinning broadly back at her.

Ron threw the bundle in his arms onto the table and seated himself in Ginny's vacant chair across from Hermione, who was absolutely at a loss for words. Ron's ears were a bit pink but otherwise he paid Hermione no attention, mumbling to himself about complete idiots taking advantage of women.

"Erm – thanks," were the only words Hermione could force out of her mouth. She was too flabbergasted by Ron's sudden change of character to form a sensible sentence but felt the need to thank him all the same.

"Yeah, that bloke's a prat," Ron grumbled. "McGonagall must've had a bit too much sherry when she hired him."

Nothing was making sense to Hermione anymore; first Harry disappeared from Hogwarts on a vague mission he wouldn't speak of, then Braedon Keleher had disgustingly asked her on a date, and now Ron was defending her and speaking to her as if they were two old acquaintances, not two people that both shared a very deep hatred of the other. Was there a possibility that she was dreaming? The real world would _have _to make more sense than the world she currently found herself in.

For a moment, all seemed right; she was sitting casually at a table with Ron as if the past six years had never occurred. Alarms were screaming in her head that this was not right, this was not logical, but Hermione didn't care. All she wanted was to live in the moment. But then –

"You must have some idea where Harry's gone to," Ron remarked airily as if he didn't care one way or another, but the look on his face clearly stated that he did.

Hermione snapped. She groped around for a very heavy object and clenched her hands around a rather thick Transfiguration volume – not a moment later, she had chucked the book through the air and at Ron's head.

"WHAT THE BLOODY _HELL_?"

The book came in contact perfectly with Ron's head, sending him toppling backwards off his chair and to the floor. After several thuds and a strangled yell, the entire staff room had turned averted their attention to the scene that had interrupted their flawlessly serene environment. Sprawled out on the ground, Ron massaged the top of his head on which, to Hermione's satisfaction, had grown quite a large bump. He stared up at her wildly before blurting angrily, "What was _that _for?"

"You tell off Braedon for – for hitting on me, and you call him a prat, but _you're _the prat, Ron!" Hermione screeched, now standing. More alarms were ringing in her head, alarms warning her that nearly the entire Hogwarts staff was present and watching their new, cool, collected colleague lose her head. Alarms warning her that she was once again sacrificing the self-control she had worked so hard for just so she could have a few moments' pleasure from getting the better of Ron. But Hermione completely and whole-heartedly ignored the stupid, annoying alarms and shut them off for good, glowering furiously at the grown man lying at her feet. She had wanted to do this for _quite_ a long time, and here was the perfect opportunity.

"What the – so you throw a _book_ at me?" Ron asked incredulously, beginning to laugh and pushing himself up to stare Hermione down. If Hermione had another weighty object in hand, she would have chucked that at him too for taking it all as a joke. But she didn't want to waste too many of her valuable possessions on her intent to crack Ron's skull.

"I thought you were doing me a favor," Hermione began shakily, keeping her boiling anger beneath her skin until she saw fit to release it. "I thought you were being a _gentleman_ telling Braedon off for me. Yes, I knew it was a bit _odd_, but perhaps you had turned over a new leaf and realized what a complete idiot you'd been acting like. But _no_," she said, her voice rising to a shriek. "You were – were softening me up so you could ask about _Harry_, like every other bloody person in this school! What do you _take_ me for, Ron?"

A contemplative look passed over Ron's face for a moment before he responded, "You really don't want me to answer that."

"My, my, look at the time!" Desdemona suddenly exclaimed loudly, glancing down at the invisible watch on her wrist. She gave each professor a significant look with wide, round eyes, before continuing on, "I do think we should all head up to bed. If I fall asleep in the middle of a lesson one more time and wake up to find my class taking turns jinxing me, I think I shall have to murder someone. Night," she called cheerfully to Ron and Hermione, rising from her chair and exiting the staff room. To Hermione's astonishment, the rest of the staff followed suit, hastily stuffing books and papers into their arms and fumbling over their feet for the staircases. A very short two minutes later, the once filled room was completely devoid of human life, save for the two adults standing near the fireplace, staring towards the dorms incredulously.

Ron found his voice before Hermione and, with a hint of anger still lingering in his tone, grumbled, "I know Harry's told you something, and I have a right to know, too. So out with it – where is he?"

Hermione clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, mentally counting to ten in her head and taking deep, agonizing breaths. She calmly sat herself down at her table and, pulling her discarded quill towards her, began grading papers again without actually taking in what she was reading.

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

With a yell of frustration, Ron kicked a leg of Hermione's table, jerking Hermione's quill to make a long, bold slash across the parchment she was poring over. She pretended to pay no notice to the mark and grabbed another essay, furiously reading line after line, determined not to look up and meet Ron's eyes.

"Where's Harry gone?" Ron demanded, rounding Hermione's chair and leaning on the table as Braedon had, only in a much less flirtatious fashion. "Does he have a lead on something? Did the Ministry call him? Has he done something stupid? _Where is he?_"

"I just told you," remarked Hermione coolly, crossing out another misspelling. "I don't know where Harry is. Perhaps if you decided to grow ears, you would've heard me the first time."

"Don't play games with me, Hermione," Ron growled, gritting his teeth together. "Stop thinking you're better than the rest of us because you know something we don't. It isn't being noble, it's being pig-headed."

"I am not pig-headed."

"Only a pig-headed person would say that."

Hermione snapped the quill she was holding shakily in two rather forcefully. With a jolt of surprise, she stared at it for a moment as if expecting it to repair itself, but then tossed it across the table and drew out a second one from her bag. She pulled another roll of parchment towards her, ignoring Ron's previous comment.

"What do you want from me, Ron?" she asked quietly but purposefully.

"Eh?"

"I don't have a problem with you being here," she continued in a very firm manner, "what with our… history, and all. Even though, in light of the current circumstances, we are being forced against our will to work together, I am not going to be the last to admit I would rather keep a distance between us."

"What are you getting at?" Ron asked skeptically. He still hadn't budged from leaning on the table in what he thought was an intimidating position.

"Unlike you, I have a job to fulfill at Hogwarts," said Hermione. She was still scribbling feverishly on the parchment – of course, the grading could have very well waited until the following evening, but it proved to be a rather nice distraction from meeting Ron's eyes. "Not only is McGonagall expecting me to aid you and Harry, she is expecting me to teach the students like any other professor would, with no distractions. Their academic careers are in my hands, and I would hate to feel responsible for their failure in the future. _Some_ people, however, are too idiotic to think of anybody except themselves –"

"What the hell are you talking about?" said Ron, gazing at Hermione as if he had finally decided she was barking mad.

"You are being a distraction to me. You show up in the middle of my lessons, leaning against my door, snickering at the way I teach my students and offering to share your _very_ fascinating adventure stories. You glare at me in the halls, whisper to Harry behind my back – who, in case you haven't noticed, Ron, is once again speaking to me, so you can stop trying to recruit him back to your side – and you never pass up an opportunity to make some sort of snide remark."

Hermione detached her eyes from the less-than-interesting essay and chanced a glance at Ron. With a pang of satisfaction, she found him looking slightly guilty and abashed, but the overruling emotion was still, quite visibly, anger. He obviously had no idea where her calm, serene lecture had come from, and where it was headed.

"So unless there is something you would like to say to me," she concluded, beginning to gather her papers and stuff them unceremoniously into her bag, "then I suggest you tell me now, because _I_ have nothing more to say to you, Ron."

With a tug of her bag, Hermione pushed back her chair and stood to face Ron, who was still leaning against the table half-heartedly. He pursed his lips, as if he _was_ actually about to say something, but instead gave her a good, strong glare, and marched across the room growling. He flung open the door to the staff room and disappeared into the darkness of the outside corridor. And suddenly, Hermione was left all alone feeling very emotional and – though she wouldn't admit it to herself – very disconsolate.

Her conscience felt considerably lighter, as if a great load of bricks had been lifted off her chest. She had finally spilled to Ron what she had wanted to say to him since he arrived at Hogwarts (well, most of it – the important parts, at any rate). Her cheeks were glowing with pleasure and she carried herself with satisfied poise, but yet why did she feel so empty and melancholy inside?

An hour later, when Hermione was still lying awake in her four-poster contemplating a wide variety of feelings, there was a sudden, unwavering knock on her door. Feeling groggy and baffled, she pulled herself out of her bed, stowing her wand in her pocket just for good measure. One could never take too many precautions.

She threw open the door and, as her eyes began to focus in the darkness of the corridor, she took notice of a tall, resolute figure standing in the shadows two feet from her threshold. Then a deep voice quivering in apprehension spoke out, "I need to tell you something."

It was Harry.

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**Author's Notes:** Yeah, how's that for a nice, healthy cliffie?


	16. They're Back

**Author's Notes:**HALLELUIA. I thought I would never get this chapter done. I know it's been a couple of awful, miserable weeks since I last updated, and I apologize profusely for this. Despite popular belief (now really, the rumors must stop!), I am not suffering from FFDDD. I am suffering from depression at realizing my beautiful, free summer has been mercilessly snatched away from me. In less than two week's time, I will be forced to return to hell (also commonly referred to as 'school'). It seems like just yesterday I was running around naked in the sprinkler, celebrating the end of seventh grade and shouting, "SUNDAY, MONDAY, HAPPY DAYS…"

…

The updates may come more slowly now (I find that my energy to vigorously update has ebbed away, due to my school-caused depression) but know that I will never, ever abandon this fic. To feed the crazy and wild rumors flying about (honestly, please learn to control yourselves!), I may be planning a sequel for BCD. I'm not sure. I do know that I am not going to write the sequel, if there is one, directly after this. Instead, I will be doing a **Bridget Jones–style Hermione diary of OotP**. Isn't that marvelous? Yes, I know it's been done over and over, five times to be exact on , but I'm completely in love with this saucy British woman and the idea is so very appealing to me. You've never read Bridget Jones–style Hermione diaries by Akalei, now have you? So it'll be something different, and I look forward to it.

When it's one of those skin-crawling, dismal breaks between my chapters, and you've already reviewed twenty times begging me to update (hint, hint), might I suggest reading THE SHOEBOX PROJECT? The Shoebox Project was introduced to me by a friend of mine and in case you haven't heard of it, it's a community on LiveJournal run by two women, and it's a community of a slap-your-thigh funny MWPP fic broken up into a dozen different parts. I'm not very far into reading it (I admit, I skipped ahead to part three one day, because the notes were just damn hilarious), but props to you, Shoebox Project authors, props to you.

Okay, now onto rambles that actually have something to do with this chapter and this story in general. More and more of the plot is being revealed now, especially in this chapter, which features nothing but a big giant love-filled (not really) Hairy – erm, Harry – explanation. Excuse the lack of suspense and angst, but I had quite a lot to explain and in the end, it took up an entire chapter. I will make up for the lack of love (again, not really) in this chapter in chapters to come.

And of course, my mandatory ending: give me end-of-summer energy by **reviewing with passion**, please, and I'll feel loved and work up the desire to write more chapters.

Signed,

A Not Dead Even Though It Was Rumored As Such Akalei

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**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THEY'RE BACK**

Hermione's hand automatically flew to her mouth to stifle a squeal of surprise at seeing her friend standing before her eyes alive. Harry moved slightly to the right and was suddenly bathed in December moonlight; his face was a mangled mess of cuts and bruises and he appeared to be limping on his left leg. His usual expression of high amusement was replaced with one of anxiousness and pain, but before Hermione had a chance to ask about his feeble condition, she was pulled down the hallway, silently warned to keep as quiet as possible.

They entered the completely vacant staff room and Harry made to cross to the door, but Hermione pulled on his robes, roughly stopping him. Something was wrong; why had Harry appeared outside her dorm so late at night looking worse for wear? She wanted to know where he had been and why and, honestly, felt like she was about to be told, but was in complete disarray, which concerned her very much.

"What are you doing? Come on," Harry hissed, groping for her sleeve and moving towards the door.

"What's happened to you? Why are you limping? You've got cuts and – and slashes all over your face, Harry, you look _awful_. Let me take you to the infirmary, please, before –"

"No, this is too important," said Harry, grabbing Hermione and steering her towards the door despite her unsuccessful protests. Once they were out in the still and empty corridor, Harry suddenly halted and turned to face Hermione.

"Do you know where Ron is?" he asked in a whisper. "I figured he'd be in his dorm, but I checked and he isn't."

Hermione could not have cared less about Ron at the moment. "He stormed out of the staff room earlier tonight. We –" She was on the verge of saying "had a fight" but decided Harry didn't need to know about the continuing arguments of his two best friends. It appeared as if he had enough on his mind and Hermione wasn't about to give him another worry. "I mean, I haven't seen him since. Probably raiding the kitchens, you know him."

"Right," Harry muttered hesitantly. "I'll tell him later. You need to know this now, so follow me, and don't speak again until I say you can."

With a nod Hermione fell into step aside Harry, her stomach growing tighter and tenser by the minute. They slithered through the deserted halls of Hogwarts, occasionally passing a gaunt ghost staring in the opposite direction, though Harry said nothing and Hermione decided to keep quiet as well. She was forced to fight down the tempting desire to ask Harry where exactly he was leading her – they could have very well talked in the staff room, no one else had been there – but she remained silent and followed him down to the ground floor. For a moment she thought he was going to turn into the Great Hall, which looked odd in the state of being devoid of teeming crowds of students. Instead, Harry turned left into a cozy-looking chamber and motioned her to do the same; with one last glance around the corner, he shut the door behind them and locked it with his wand. Harry swiveled around slowly, his face appearing gaunt and skeletal in the light dancing from the roaring fire against the back wall. With a deep, ragged breath, he opened his mouth.

"They're back."

Hermione found that her voice had mysteriously disappeared in their journey through the castle. She had no idea what Harry was talking about; perhaps he was delirious? But the set look on his face suggested that he was perfectly sane and only brought the situation, whatever it was, into a new light, and Hermione's mind seriously pondered Harry's two words.

"Who, Harry?" Hermione asked calmly, unable to disguise the slight quiver in her voice.

"It's them," Harry muttered, running one bloody hand through his hair and sinking into a chair near the fire. He gazed absentmindedly at the flames, his eyes eerily unfocused. Hermione slowly took a seat across from him.

"Who are them?" She found it extremely challenging not to burst with the thousands of questions swirling around her head – _Where have you been? Why are you injured? Who called you away? What's going on? Why did you have to leave?_ So she settled with getting Harry to elaborate instead.

"The Death Eaters."

A strangled sort of cry escaped Hermione's throat and her hand once again flew to her mouth, stifling the noise.

"Don't look at me like that, Hermione, I'm telling the truth," Harry muttered. He drew out his wand from his robes, waved it in a circular motion, and two cups of coffee suddenly appeared in front of the thriving fire. He handed one to a shocked and motionless Hermione.

"Why didn't you get coffee in the staff room?" Hermione said in a small voice. She briefly wondered why she had asked such a stupid and pointless question, but didn't want to indulge in stomach-clenching conversation just yet. She was still replaying Harry's last sentence in her mind, flinching inwardly each time.

"I didn't want to sit around and wait for someone to find us," said Harry, covetously draining his steaming mug of coffee. "This is private information I was told not to share with anyone and the Ministry would murder me brutally if they knew I was telling you this. No one else can know, understand? You _cannot_ repeat this to anyone."

"But Ron –?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione, of course I'm going to tell him. But I wasn't about to go off searching for him at this time of night, and you need to know this now."

Hermione felt a swell of importance; Harry had wanted to tell her urgently and wasn't going to wait around for Ron (_Idiotic prat,_ Hermione thought). She quickly brushed these feelings aside and focused her attention on Harry, who seemed on the verge of letting out something very significant.

"Someone spotted Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry muttered, tipping his empty cup over his mouth expectantly. He sighed and discarded the mug to the floor, slumping against the backside of his armchair, looking weary and fatigued in the firelight. "She was first seen snooping around some Muggle village out in Turkey but fled as soon as we got the reports."

Hermione had gone rigid, her breathing shallow and irregular, her own coffee cup quivering in her tight grip. Harry's words reverberated around her head and a sequence of dark images began flashing across her mind like a film set on fast-forward. A blazing fire burning a cherished house to the ground; two lifeless bodies being carried out of a scene of smoldering ashes; a cold and clammy hospital waiting room full of old magazines and worried adults...

"Did you hear me? Hermione?"

The traumatic slideshow of events forcefully vanished from her mind, focusing all her concentration on the situations at hand. There was nothing she could do about anything that had already happened, but what was occurring presently needed her attention.

"Is that why you were called away?" Hermione asked quietly, averting her eyes to the fireplace and allowing them to bore into the vivid flames. "Did you catch her? Please tell me you did, Harry. I can't stand the thought of that woman roaming free."

A hesitant noise and another sigh confirmed Hermione's worst suspicions. "We didn't get her," Harry said. It was clear that he was hating himself for it, but Bellatrix Lestrange had only been tracked and caught once, so it came as no surprise that Harry had failed. "The Ministry has their best Aurors and WIA agents investigating it right now, but she managed to slip away again and to be honest, we don't know where she's gone off to this time."

"Wait a moment – so you _did_ have a lead, then?" said Hermione, intrigued.

Harry glanced at his watch. "I suppose I could tell you the whole story now," he mumbled. "We've got a few hours.

"Like I said, Lestrange was first spotted in Turkey, but disappeared as quickly as she had come. There've been a few other reports of Death Eaters that were supposedly dead walking around in public, but the imbeciles at the Ministry regarded them as useless information and threw the papers out. We were right in thinking that they were ganging up with Lestrange; the Auror inboxes have been flooding with sightings concerning a group of robed figures for days now."

Harry took a deep breath and moved his eyes from Hermione to the fire. His gaze was distant and absent, but he continued speaking nonetheless. "We had very accurate information from an inside source that Lestrange had moved along to Greece and was currently in hiding. One of the blokes from Auror Headquarters, McAllister, has been tracking their route and found that they seem to be moving westwards."

"So it's a pattern, then," Hermione murmured aloud.

"Yeah, but it's meaningless right now," said Harry. "Anyway, I was called away secretly because the Aurors don't want anyone else – not even the other Ministry officials – to know of the Death Eaters' return."

"Because it would cause an uprising of disbelief and panic in the wizarding community."

"Right. We were hoping to track down and capture the Death Eaters and Lestrange before anyone found out they were loose. Unfortunately, we weren't so lucky.

"I was sent to Greece along with three other Aurors. We Apparated to Hania, out in the Sea of Crete, and arrived at some old site of castle ruins. We were greeted by two Greek Aurors who were in correspondence with our Ministry and they filled us in on all we needed to know. The castle was unplottable, deserted and, supposedly, haunted, and based on rumors around the local village, Lestrange and her group of Death Eaters were hiding inside."

Hermione let out another muffled squeak. "But that's too simple, Harry," she said matter-of-factly. "If the Ministry had guessed where the Death Eaters were hiding, then they could have raided the castle and caught them easily."

Harry shook his head forlornly. "I thought so too, but it turned out to be more of a challenge than we expected. No known wizard had figured out how to break into the castle; Lestrange must've loaded the whole damn thing with hordes of charms and curses. Luckily Romina – one of the other Aurors – is a professional spellbreaker, so we managed to get inside fairly quickly.

"At first, we thought we had the wrong place, because it looked as if the castle hadn't been used for years. Rather spooky, really. Anyway, after nearly an entire day of searching, Lysander amazingly stumbled upon something in the dungeons. And I always thought he was a bit of an idiot, but what he found was very helpful. It was clear the Death Eaters had been in the castle; we found tables laden with maps of Europe and Asia, so we had no doubt they did indeed have a route they were following. One map in particular, the largest one, had various plots and points randomly scattered around Asian countries. We figured Lestrange had been keeping track of where her fellow Death Eaters were concealing themselves. It's no use to us now, though, the plotted countries have been thoroughly searched and it looks as if nobody's in hiding anymore."

A tense silence settled in the room as Hermione let Harry's last words sink in. As much as she tried to veil and distort what she was being told, it was no use; the situation was blinding her with truth and she couldn't keep what she knew buried anymore. A good number of powerfully dangerous Death Eaters were currently roaming Europe. She, her friends, her co-workers, and her students were no longer safe.

"We didn't find much else that was significant," Harry said, letting the flames reflect and dance in his vacant eyes. "A few dark gadgets, more maps. I don't know what we were hoping for; perhaps a letter written by Lestrange, revealing all her deepest, darkest schemes." He sighed. "But there was that one thing, though…"

"What?" Hermione asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"I don't know what it means," Harry muttered, furrowing his brow and screwing up his eyes in thought, bringing some life back into his face. "None of us do. We brought it back with us to headquarters and had a few experts Apparate in, but it didn't matter much, nobody could figure it out. Romina found this book lying on top of an altar and it was completely written in Greek. The experts could only translate a few pieces of the book, I guess it was written in an old form of Greek that no one uses anymore."

"What did it say?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't seem too important but it's certainly suspicious. Something about wizards who possess rare, mystical powers that enable the m to… well, like I said, the translation was rough, so I really doubt it was _'powers that enable the possessor to fry and cook their victims'_, though that could be rather handy. We still have a few people doing some research on it, but it isn't our main priority right now."

Hermione thought the strange Greek book with mysterious translations was indeed something apprehensive the Aurors should consider, but she was keener on getting information about the Death Eaters (the latter appeared to be more dangerous than a book about frying and cooking other wizards).

"But Harry," she said, lowering her voice to a mere whisper even though there was no one else around to hear, "the Death Eaters – how did they get away?"

"That's the thing," replied Harry. He raised his arm and absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair again. With the firelight illuminating the room and the natural light peeking in under the crack in the door, Hermione once more was attracted to the mangled state of Harry's hands, and couldn't help noticing the numerous gashes and bruises covering his face. She was again inclined to ask about it, but Harry rambled on, and her interest was replaced with shock at his story.

"We're not sure how they did it, exactly," Harry said. "From the state of the room, we were able to conclude that Lestrange and the Death Eaters had fled only a few hours prior to our arrival in the dungeon."

"So that means they were still in the castle with you when you were above ground," Hermione interpolated.

Harry nodded. "We could've caught them," he said, clenching his teeth and gripping his hair in fury. "They were literally under our bloody noses and they still got away. I could've prevented mass massacres and complete turmoil if we had just gone down to the dungeons first –"

"Harry, it isn't your fault," Hermione reminded him, for Harry had quite a notorious tendency to take the burden of the world upon his shoulders and blame himself for all awful happenings. "You and the other Aurors had no way of knowing they were still in the castle. It's a miracle you even managed to track them there, and it's a miracle you were able to break in. There haven't been any massacres and nobody's in turmoil yet. You still have time, you know. You're guilty of nothing."

Harry looked up, as surprised as Hermione felt. When had her voice returned? How could she be so logical and rational when potential danger and death were staring her straight in the face? She had meant to let out another cry of terror but instead gave a speech of comfort. And yet the look on Harry's face was priceless.

"Thanks," he murmured. "You're right. We were just _so close._ Moody said almost the same thing, in a much more Moody way, of course. He said we helped the Ministry more than we hurt them."

"That's true."

Having regained his composure, Harry shook off his feelings of self-hatred and continued on with his story. "But then Dominic McAllister discovered a hidden passageway concealed behind a tapestry on the other side of the room. There were fresh footprints left in the dirt floor, which means the Death Eaters did indeed leave the castle by means of the passageway. We followed their route, somewhat apprehensible because, as Romina so eloquently pointed out, the Death Eaters would've known we were coming and would've also supposed that we would try to follow them. We were all expecting to encounter some giant snake or equally dangerous creature along the way, but the passageway was completely deserted. We walked for well over an hour and came out far away from the castle territory; we were at the beach on the edge of the island. The Death Eaters were gone, and had most likely Apparated to the mainland."

"That doesn't explain your – you know, the – all the cuts and bruises and…"

A shadow of a grin flitted across Harry's face. "I look like I'm wearing a Halloween mask, don't I? Stop fretting, all right? I'm okay, honestly, I'm fine. Stop _looking_ at me like that."

"You really should get up to the hospital wing," Hermione squeaked, resting her eyes on a particularly nasty gash under Harry's left eye.

"I'm not finished with my story yet, and if I walk into the hospital wing looking like this, I'll be questioned, and I can't tell anyone what's happened. Well, I'm sure I could sell off a story about getting into a fight with a dragon or something… But that night, the four of us camped out in a forest back on the mainland. We contacted the Greek Ministry and they were as clueless as to where the Death Eaters had gone as we were. We planned to question some of the local Muggle villagers the following day, you know, find out if they'd seen anything suspicious lately. Unfortunately we, er, didn't get that far into the plan."

"What do you mean?"

"We were awoken in the middle of the night by nearby screams. Our makeshift camp wasn't that deep into the forest, so we were pretty close to the Muggle village. When we got to the forest borderline, the village on the next hill over was a really awful sight. Apparently, they were being attacked by a horde of Chimaeras."

"You aren't serious," said Hermione, drawing in a sharp gasp of breath. "But the Chimaera is really rare, what are the odds of an entire group existing in one location?"

"I don't _know_, Hermione," Harry said, exasperated. "But buildings were going up in flames; people were being driven from their homes. I wasn't about to stand there and dwell on the _how_.

"It was a pretty brutal fight, to be honest. Chimaeras – they're bloody quick things, they are. They can sense you coming up behind them when you're nearly a mile away. And their claws hurt something awful. Lysander called for backup from the Greek Ministry right away; none of us are animal trainers or anything, so the best we could do was keep the villagers safe and try to drive the Chimaeras into the forest. Romina managed to scare one off into the woods, but the downside was that it took two small children with it. _Don't _give me that look, I'm not being insensitive. It was a horrible experience. Chimaeras aren't susceptible to most wizard spells, so the most we could do was keep them away with repetitive shouts of _Stupefy_ and _Expelliarmus_. None of the Unforgivables worked on them, either. And then we had the curious Muggles asking why we were waving _sticks_ at the mutant beasts… So a group of Greeks showed up half an hour later and performed a mass Memory Charm on the remainder of the village. They tried to kill off the Chimaeras –"

"But they're probably some of the only ones left!" Hermione interjected. "There are rules against killing endangered species, they can't do that!"

"– but they all escaped into the forest before any of the attempts were successful," Harry finished, clearly pretending to ignore Hermione's comment. "A few more men Apparated in and began setting magical boundaries around the edge of the village so the Chimaeras would be restricted to the woods. It took us the rest of the morning to put out the fires and rebuild the village. Thankfully, I got out of there before the Muggles were woken up; what a mess that was bound to be. So does that explain a few things?"

Hermione nodded slowly. She was utterly disturbed by Harry's gruesome account of events; she could hardly begin to imagine the amount of damage that had been done to the innocent Muggles, both physical and emotional. The slashes on Harry's face were signs of the horrible encounter and Hermione's flesh crawled every time her eyes painfully wandered back to Harry's face.

"I really don't think you're all right, Harry," she said bluntly, but the crack in her voice didn't help much.

"You're not going to be happy until I'm lying in the infirmary, are you?" Harry asked, a shadowed smile returning to his face. An abrupt crashing outside the door jerked his attention away; he rose out of his chair slightly and Hermione noticed that his hand automatically flew to his wand.

"It's the students," Hermione whispered, checking her watch. Clear footsteps of the school on their way to an early breakfast could be heard outside the door now, and it was no wonder; the two of them had talked well through the night and neither had quite noticed it.

"We'd better go," Harry said, pushing back his chair and putting out the fire with a wave of his hand. "It would look suspicious if someone caught two grown adults, one looking like he just fell off a cliff, conversing alone in a regularly off-limits room."

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, her heart beating very fast as she stored and re-ran all of the information she had just gained in her head. "Harry, this is serious. Potentially murderous – no, they _are _murderous – Death Eaters are on the loose. No one knows where they are. They could be lurking outside the school for all we know. Don't you think – I mean, considering the students' safety – perhaps we should tell Professor McGonagall?"

"Hermione, _we can't tell anyone_," Harry emphasized, moving towards the door.

"I know, I know, but she won't tell, will she? And she's the Headmistress; if her school's under risk, don't you think she has a right to know? She's in the Order and all, Harry. This is _McGonagall_ we're talking about."

With a sigh, Harry placed his hand upon the door knob and turned to face Hermione. "Of course you're right," he said finally. "You're always right. The school should be on alert, and she should know. We'll tell her after classes, is that good? I really need to find Ron, I hope he didn't do something stupid like set the kitchens on fire."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Hermione muttered to herself. She gave Harry a nod and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror hanging on the opposite wall and realized she looked as nearly as dreadful as Harry; her hair was matted and stuck up at odd angles, as it hadn't been brushed for several hours and prominent, dark circles surrounded her watery eyes, a sign of lack of sleep.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked with a yawn in Harry's vague direction. "We can't have you parading around the school looking like that. Yes, I know I'm still in my nightdress, so stop smirking at me. You do look worse, you know."

"Fine, you may take me to the infirmary," Harry said with mock vexation. He followed Hermione through the entrance hall, glaring at several alarmed students who were fixated on his face along the way, and allowed her to lead him to the hospital wing. They joked half-heartedly as they traveled through the many corridors of Hogwarts, as if they hadn't spent the past couple hours telling and gaining information concerning Dark wizards on the loose. Hermione knew Harry was trying to keep the mood light so as not to worry her further, and she was grateful; but still, she was unable to banish the gnawing sensation in her stomach, and a little voice in her head that sounded oddly like Harry's kept replaying over and over the words, _"They're back. The Death Eaters. They're back."___


	17. The Disappearing Damsel

**Author's Notes:** Look at this. I am writing a chapter. After my last update on August second, nearly two months ago, I am writing once more. Yes, I did suffer a very short case of FFDDD, or whatever the hell I named it, which was caused by school this time. It's hard balancing between homework, shopping, social life, and writing. I _promise _I won't let that happen again. I had to go back and re-read nearly my entire story because I forgot what it was about. That should not be happening. I am so sorry I let you all down. You will not have to wait another two months for the next chapter, I swear!

Thanks to those of you who still submitted reviews – and little reminders to update – in my absence. I really hope you won't ditch the story after this, thinking it'll take me a year to upload a new chapter. Really, it won't. Last time was an inexcusable exception, and if you can't tell by now, I feel pretty bad about it.

So, to make up for those two, agonizing, chapter-less months, I made this one especially long: _twelve whole pages on Word_ (about three or for more than usual; yes, this took me several weeks to write). Therefore, I expect extra reviews. ;)

And if any of you remember, when I mentioned doing a Bridget-Jones style Hermione diary in the last chapter – or a couple decades ago, it seems like – I was serious. When this is over, I'll probably get started on the diary straightaway. Don't ask me how long this story is going to go on. It's about Christmas-time on the story-line right now, so you figure it out.

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**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE DISAPPEARING DAMSEL**

A crash somewhere on a lower floor jerked Hermione awake the following morning. She gazed wildly around her room, expecting a murderer to jump out from behind her dresser or come bursting through her door. When she was sure no one had any intentions of killing her, she turned her head towards her window and blinked. The day was still dark and stars were scattered in the sky, but the faint sliver of sunlight on the horizon suggested that morning was not far off. A slight breeze was rustling the curtains, chilling the room and causing Hermione to shiver. She slowly pushed back her blankets and dragged her feet along the floor to the window.

Hermione had spent the previous afternoon alone in her room, gathering her future lesson plans and mulling certain thoughts over in her head. She had stayed up well into the night reading, as she most often did, and therefore was quite tired and did not appreciate being awakened many more hours than usual. While she wondered what exactly the crashing noise had been, she was too tired and did not care enough to find out. _Probably Peeves_, she reassured herself.

As she reached the windowpane, Hermione found her eyes wandering to the giant moon, shining bright and proud over the shadowed lake. The slice of sunlight in the distance was growing as morning drew closer. There really was no point in going back to sleep now, she reasoned reluctantly. In a couple hour's time, the rest of the school would be awake and, as customary on a Monday morning, she would be required to spend the entire day teaching. _I'll never get a decent night's sleep again_, Hermione thought as she reached for the window to shut it.

She stopped. Something just barely visible caught her eye on the grounds. It was moving swiftly yet silently down the dark lawns towards the Forbidden Forest, and at a closer look, Hermione noticed it was wearing a cloak. She screwed up her eyes, squinting at the figure as its proximity to the Forest shortened. The hood of the cloak fell and long, raven hair was revealed underneath the moonlight. For a moment, Hermione thought the outline of the person looked rather familiar, but she couldn't exactly decide on who it might have been. A second later, the person disappeared into the Forest without a second glance back and Hermione could no longer guess at who it was or what they were doing.

Another ear-splitting crash somewhere below made Hermione jump. Abandoning her thoughts of the mysterious figure on the grounds, she held her breath and strained her ears for more odd sounds. As she did so, she could faintly make out the treading of several sets of footsteps coming from an unspecified place underneath her floorboards. There were voices too, it seemed. Something was definitely going on.

After quickly dressing and grabbing her wand from her bedside table, Hermione yanked open her dorm door and dashed down the hall into the staff room. Oddly enough, it was completely empty. A few random coffee cups were the only signs that there had ever been life in the room. Usually on Monday mornings, the staff room was bustling with life as teachers treasured their last student-free moments of the day for several long, tedious hours. This morning, however, was different. Hermione was sure that none of the teachers were still in bed; she passed their rooms on her way out and most, if not all, of the doors were open and the rooms were unoccupied.

Hermione quickly exited the room into the dark, shadowed halls of Hogwarts. Very distantly, muffled sounds of shouts and footsteps could be heard; she strained her ears again and followed the echoes down several vacant corridors. She rounded a corner and came to a staircase, which was also completely void of student or professor life. But the strange sounds still reverberated through the halls, and Hermione continued to follow them for several more tense minutes. She passed by quite a few large windows and saw that as the sun peered more noticeably above the horizon, snow had begun to fall, slightly obscuring her view of the Forbidden Forest. There was still no sign of the figure that had disappeared into the trees only moments before. For a brief instant, she found herself dwelling on it – why had the figure been so eager to get to the Forest at such an early hour, when the school seemed to be in utter chaos?

A remote shout of "_Gryffindors!_" jerked Hermione back to her mission. The echoes were becoming more solid now, therefore meaning she was getting closer to the center of whatever was happening. She continued to pass along the windows, her hand inching closer towards her wand each second, and ventured down yet another gloomy hall before rounding a final corner. She paused and stared at the sight at the end of the corridor.

A large group of students, mostly Gryffindors, it seemed, were all attempting to push through a doorway and flatten a Prefect in the process. The boy gave out a cry of, "Students, please! Let me through and I'll sort this all out!", but it mattered none to the terrified and confused children. More distant shouts and thundering footsteps only added to the muddled scene. Hermione became more bewildered by the moment, and certainly wanted some answers, but the Prefect and the students needed help before any information could be gained.

"Excuse me!" Hermione boomed, rushing forward towards the students. "EXCUSE ME! GRYFFINDORS, I NEED YOUR ATTENTION! Hey! HEY! _SILENCIO!_"

The corridor quieted immediately and the students ceased their actions to fight each other for access through the door. They slowly turned to stare at whoever had cast the spell and, upon seeing Hermione, began shouting furiously once again – only no sound could be heard.

"Quiet!" Hermione ordered, only feeling slightly foolish afterwards as there was no noise to quiet in the first place. She flicked her wand and the soft roar of wind on the other side of the castle walls returned, as did several small whispers and mutters in the crowd of students.

"Now, can someone _please_ tell me what in the world is going on?"

Hermione turned her head to the disheveled Prefect, who was looking as befuddled as anyone else. He gave her a small shrug, his eyes still rather wide and a terrified expression on his face.

"We're not exactly sure," squeaked a falsetto female voice to Hermione's right. A small girl was fiddling with a string on her sleeve as she shuffled her feet, looking around nervously. "The Ravenclaw Prefect came banging on our portrait about an hour ago, demanding to speak to the Head Girl. They went off together down to the Great Hall, we think, so we went round and woke up the rest of the House and tried to follow the Ravenclaws. But then Professor King caught us and told us to go back to our common room, so we've only just tried to leave again."

"Why did the Ravenclaw Prefect need to speak to the Head Girl?" Hermione asked calmly, as perplexed as ever.

"I don't know," the Prefect spoke up. "No one informed me of _anything_, so I know about as much as this lot. I think the teachers are holding a conference, probably in the Great Hall. Hadn't you better get down there?"

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said distractedly, pushing past the students. She hastened down the hall as she heard shouts from the group start up again, but she stopped for nothing. She came across another small gathering of students, most likely Hufflepuffs, but took a different route to avoid more questioning. Finally, she arrived in the Entrance Hall.

The doors leading out onto the grounds were wide open. The snow was falling more heavily now, coating the ground in layers of white and littering the threshold with tiny flakes. The snow greatly limited Hermione's visibility, no longer allowing her to see the Forbidden Forest at all, or the mysterious person who had disappeared into it. She shivered slightly and stood rooted to the spot for a minute before voices to her left caught her attention.

Discussion was drifting out from the ajar doors leading into the Great Hall. Hermione moved towards the door and pushed it open slightly; she stuck her head through the crack and peered into the room, keeping quiet all the while. She wasn't exactly sure whether or not this was something she was supposed to be listening in on, but if _she_ wasn't allowed, then who exactly would be?

It seemed that the entire staff was gathered at the head table on the opposite side of the room. McGonagall sat in the center, her face expressionless and rather pale, Hermione noted. The professors, many of whom were still in their night clothes, all stared at McGonagall with mixtures of fear, incomprehension, and surprise manifest on their faces. Hermione's worst suspicions had been confirmed – something _had_ happened.

"Granger!" a quivering voice barked out. It was McGonagall's. "About time you arrived. Please sit down, we have very serious matters to discuss."

"What's happened?" Hermione asked as she drew nearer to the table. "I came across a very distressed group of Gryffindors on the third floor, and they mentioned something about the Ravenclaw Prefect and –"

"Please sit down," McGonagall repeated. "We're discussing it now and you will be informed of what you need to know."

Hermione nodded, not at all comprehending anything whatsoever, and took a seat next to a panic-stricken Ginny. She gazed around the table at her fellow co-workers, who all looked tousled and alarmed. Hermione leaned towards Ginny and muttered, "Tell me what's going on."

"A student," Ginny mumbled numbly. She then nodded in McGonagall's direction.

"There has been a slight tragedy," McGonagall announced to the silent table. "This morning at approximately five o'clock, a Ravenclaw student was seen crossing the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. When her housemates checked her dorm not long after, her belongings were gone and a note was found on her bed."

McGonagall paused to rummage in her pocket. She drew out a small scrap of parchment and read it aloud to the assembled group. "'I am gone. Do not come and find me. Signed, Irene Farnsworth.' That's all there is," she said disbelievingly. "No reason at all. We've interviewed the Ravenclaws and asked if they had any idea as to why this girl would depart so suddenly, but they had no answers for us."

"Have you checked her family history?" a voice asked. Hermione glanced down the table and realized, for the first time, that Harry and Ron were present as well. "Perhaps she was an orphan and was suffering some sort of depression or something."

"No, Mr. Potter," McGonagall sighed. "She comes from a very well-respected family in northern Wales. As I said, we are all completely oblivious as to why Farnsworth felt the need to escape into the Forest."

"I honestly don't see what the problem is," Bella spoke up two seats down from Hermione. All heads turned in her direction as she continued speaking. "So a student's run off into the Forbidden Forest. Hasn't this happened before? She'll reappear in an hour or so, saying she forgot to do her homework and had no other way out of it. I'm sure there are more important 'tragedies' that could've occurred, don't you think?"

The members of the table all held their breath as McGonagall stared hard at Bella. Hermione herself was flabbergasted at Bella's comments; no doubt that everyone else was as well. She was rather surprised at the woman's outstanding ignorance. How could she _not_ comprehend the serious matter at hand?

"I apologize, Professor Levrero," McGonagall said slowly and clearly. "You are new to the school and do not fully understand the _dangers_ that await any who enter the Forbidden Forest. I admit, I would not be as concerned if Doxies, Graphorns, Acromantulas," – Hermione could have sworn McGonagall glanced in the direction of Harry and Ron – "and other unthinkable beasts did not roam free throughout the Forest, but unfortunately, I can only think of the safety of my students right now."

Hermione was quite sure that Bella's mouth could not be more clenched than it already was. She wasn't exactly sure what had sparked the woman to speak in such an impolite manner, but it didn't matter – currently, there was an innocent student wandering the forest with hazards much worse than Acromantulas awaiting her.

"Continuing on," McGonagall muttered. "We sent out Desdemona King earlier this morning to see if there were any traces of the girl, or if she could find her without venturing too far into the Forest. She should be arriving back any minute, and I highly doubt she's found much of anything that will be of use to us. Therefore, I would like a search party formed immediately."

"Wait a moment," Hermione spoke up. "Why haven't we contacted the Ministry? The girl could be in trouble, and they have wizards trained to do this that could help find her. Don't you think that they would like to be informed of this?"

McGonagall paused for several seconds. Several long, tense, uncomfortable seconds. Something flickered in her eyes as they moved from Hermione to Harry and Ron and back to Hermione. The rest of the table did not quite comprehend her eye movements and sat, watching and waiting, as McGonagall straightened her back and gave a little cough.

"Miss Granger, I would like a word with you, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley in a moment. Now, as for the rest of you," she said, turning to face the remaining staff members, "I know you are quite capable of finding this girl yourselves. You are dismissed to the Forest. I would suggest contacting Professor King on your way out and if any vital information has been gained, please report it to me immediately. I cannot stress how important it is that we find this child unharmed. Our situation is dire, and I trust that you all will do your best."

With curt nods, the professors scraped their chairs along the floor and quickly exited the room. Hermione watched as they disappeared into the Entrance Hall and, after a small burst of snowflakes, ventured out onto the wintry Hogwarts grounds in search of the odd vanishing student.

McGonagall cleared her throat and, as Hermione turned back to face her, she realized how empty and awkward the room felt. Harry and Ron sat at the opposite end of the table, gazing perplexingly at her and McGonagall with questionable looks apparent on their faces. Hermione too was curious as to why the three of them had been held back.

"I have no doubt that this may be classified as another… occurrence," McGonagall began shakily. "Miss Granger, you asked me why the Ministry has not been informed of the girl's departure. I would think the answer would be quite obvious."

"The Ministry can't know," Harry said, reminding them all once again. "They can't know. Because… what is it you said before? If they knew, they would interfere and question the well-being of the school."

"Marshall Dempsey would close the school if he knew a single thing, let alone recurring accidents, was amiss," McGonagall added. "If the Minister of Magic is informed, then we all might as well pack our belongings, because once the _Daily Prophet_ catches on, I'll be getting innumerable owls from concerned parents. I would be wrong in thinking any sensible parent would let their child stay at this school when we are all very much in danger. We _have_ discussed this before."

"But the Aurors know," said Harry. "They are the ones who recommended me for this job in the first place. They're our only allies in the Ministry right now."

"I still say that's pretty dodgy, if you ask me," commented Ron. "What if one of them slips up and tells someone else? Or what if they do it purposely?"

Hermione had a strong urge to snap at Ron and cease his stupid, unimportant interjections, but McGonagall spoke first. "It's a risk we decided to take. And from what we know, all who are involved are as reliable as you and I. If we are careful, I have reason to believe the Ministry should never find out about our troubles."

"What if Irene Farnsworth's disappearance isn't connected to the other occurrences?" Hermione asked matter-of-factly. "Don't you think it is very possible she ran away due to her own personal issues? We shouldn't be so quick to assume it's another link in the chain –"

"Come off it!" Ron yelled angrily. "Why _wouldn't_ it be? It's a bit suspicious, don't you think? Or isn't the note enough evidence?"

"It isn't any evidence at all, if you ask me –"

"But for now," McGonagall interrupted loudly, putting a stop to Hermione and Ron's potential argument, "we need as much help as possible searching for the girl. Your colleagues are quite competent, but I feel they lack certain qualities you possess that could be handy for this task. Please, if you come in contact with anyone – or anything – that is of any value, return to me as soon as you can. In the meantime, I will go deal with the students."

The three of them nodded and pushed back their chairs. They turned and made their way down the aisle toward the doors leading into the Entrance Hall. Far off in the distance, Hermione could still hear the chaos and discord Irene Farnsworth's disappearance had left the remainder of the school in. Feet pounded across the floor above and incomprehensible shouts rang through the halls. Her heart momentarily went out to the Prefects; she could only imagine what they must be going through trying to keep serenity amongst the students.

"Oh, Mr. Potter," McGonagall called out suddenly, causing them all to turn back. "I would suggest searching your room first to see if any of your possessions have gone missing." And with that, the doors shut, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione utterly alone.

Harry glanced at the two of them for a mere second before dashing up the stairs out of sight. Hermione was not quite sure what McGonagall's warning had meant; why would any of Harry's things be absent? It almost sounded as if McGonagall suspected someone would have intentions of stealing something of Harry's.

Hermione and Ron wordlessly began the journey over the crisp Hogwarts lawns. Even if she could think of something intelligent to say to Ron, the try would be pointless; it was impossible to hear anything except for the roar of the wind. The snow was coming down in thick sheets that seemed to be feet wide and visibility was limited. Hermione could scarcely see a foot ahead of her, and Ron would be totally lost if his hair was not so vibrantly noticeable. She questioned which way the Forest was, as the two of them just seemed to be recklessly wandering forward. But through the gale, she could see a great light; warmth was shining through the wall of snow, rising higher in the sky, signaling the end of night and the beginning of morning. She had been awake a good hour, at least, if not more, and now the rest of the school would be awakening and taking part in the disorganized chaos. She knew the light was the sun, and it was rising above the lake – that meant the Forest was just dead ahead.

"Where are you doing?" she screamed towards Ron, who had veered off to the right. No noise escaped her frostbitten lips. Hermione shivered; she wished she had been more sensible before leaving her dorm. Her sweater and pants were quite thin, as were her robes, and she wore no cloak at all. The dampness from the snow was beginning to seep through to her skin, prickling her body, and her legs were drenched up to near the knee. For the first time, she noticed how cold she really was, but it did not matter – her mission was to find the missing student, even if it meant suffering through hypothermia.

"Ron!" Her mouthed formed the word but the sound was unheard. She moved forward and grabbed his arm, startling him slightly. His face was clearly irked, as was he for being delayed in what the thought was the correct direction to the Forest.

"What are you playing at?" he yelled, coming quite close to Hermione's face. She could just barely hear the angry words. He wriggled free of her grip and motioned to turn back in the wrong direction.

"You're going the wrong way!" Hermione shrieked, grabbing the sleeve of his arm. "Look, there's the sun above the lake." She pointed towards the growing light to her left. Ron said something incomprehensible, pointing his own hand towards the opposite course, but Hermione paid no attention. "If the sun's to our left, then the Forest is straight ahead. Come _on_."

Keeping her fingers clasped tightly around his arm, Hermione pulled Ron in what she thought – and hoped – was the path to the Forest. It was an odd scene and an odd feeling as well. They were both engulfed completely in the snowstorm, unable to see anything other than themselves. The shining light barely got through, casting dim rays across their faces, but the source of the light appeared to be unknown. Hermione felt a strange temporary euphoria from this different world; alone out here in this alternate universe was mysterious yet also tranquilizing. She wished the snow could wipe away all her fears and the burdens she carried on her shoulders. She wished Ron would disappear, just for a mere second, leaving Hermione to dance alone in the falling beauty of the frozen raindrops.

Her thoughts immediately came to a stop as a barrier of dark, taunting figures began to emerge some few yards ahead. The pair drew nearer, Ron still hanging loosely behind, to what was definitely the entrance to the Forbidden Forest. The tips of the tall trees were indistinguishable, but the branches and twigs themselves became clearer and more solid with each step forward. Then another figure, quite different than the trees, appeared.

Desdemona King was running towards Hermione and Ron. The snow seemed to lessen as Hermione drew closer to the perimeter of the forest, and Desdemona was quite visible, as was her terrified facial expression. The deafening wind died away slightly, if not for just the moment, and Hermione was able to hear Desdemona's shouts.

"Hermione! Ron!" she yelled, fighting against the tough winds to reach the pair. "You're here, thank God!"

Hermione and Ron were finally within a foot of Desdemona. Her teeth were chattering and her hair appeared to be quite icy underneath the thick hood of her cloak. Aside from looking utterly frozen, she also looked remarkably tattered. The bloody slashes on her face greatly contrasted with its overall whiteness; she was missing a glove on her right hand, revealing it to be bruised and wounded. The hem of her cloak was ripped in several different areas, one as high as her thigh, each rip as violent looking as the next. Hermione wondered if Desdemona had been clumsy and fallen, explaining the gashes and tears, or if something else had marred her appearance.

"Has she been found?" Hermione asked, still yelling against the wind. "McGonagall explained it all to us and everyone else has already gotten here – or so we hope," she added quickly, her heart sinking another few inches. "Where's the girl?"

"Jeffery and Flitwick got lost on the way here," Desdemona explained, pulling her cloak closer to her body. "I'm sure they're fine, they're probably back up at the school or still wandering around somewhere, but we could really use the extra help. We haven't found her yet, or anything of much help. Ginny did come across a Ravenclaw colored scarf about fifteen minutes ago, and we suspect it was her's, but there haven't been any more signs. Where's Harry?"

"McGonagall told him to check his room," Ron said, his voice sounding unusually wobbly. "Told him to make sure nothing was missing."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Desdemona. She bowed her head down for a moment as a particularly nasty bout of wind jostled the trio. "But forget about it. We need to find the girl, for her own safety and ours as well. Much longer out here and I'll probably turn into a snowman, assuming the same for everyone else. The Forest is better, come on."

Hermione and Ron followed Desdemona and disappeared amongst the trees a moment later. Hermione was relieved; the wind was quite muffled and the ground was littered with only a very thin layer of snow. She shivered again, as it was still rather cold, but found she preferred the sanctuary of the Forest so the harsh conditions outside.

"_Lumos_," she and Ron muttered simultaneously.

"I would suggest going off there," Desdemona said in a normal tone, no longer having to scream. She pointed in a direction relatively northeast. "We haven't sent anyone to search that area yet. Mind you, I _would_ watch your step. We aren't quite sure what lives down there, and we didn't really want to find out."

"We can handle ourselves," Ron said strongly.

"Remember, if you discover anything at all, find me or someone else as quickly as possible. Good luck." A fleeting moment later, Desdemona had disappeared behind a large tree. Hermione listened to her retreating footsteps as they grew softer and softer until they were no longer audible at all. Once again, she and Ron were all alone, this time in a less peaceful and more dangerous environment.

"Let's go," Ron muttered, moving forward towards Desdemona's suggested direction. Hermione recollected herself and followed, if not somewhat reluctantly. She yearned to be of help and perhaps even find the missing student before any harm came to her, but she had to admit, she was slightly frightened of the Forest. Her initial adventure into the Forest's dark depths in her first year was not a pleasant one and it had remained in her mind ever since. The trips that followed the first were just as terrifying; with every corner she turned, she expected something large and treacherous to attack. She had no idea what all lived in the Forest, but she could only hope there was nothing worse than what she already knew of. Of course, Hermione trusted McGonagall and knew she would not let any creatures into the Forest that could potentially do any real harm to the Hogwarts students – or at least, to McGonagall's knowledge. But then again, the Forest _was _forbidden to the students, and obviously, for a reason. In the end, Hermione believed she had solid reason to fear the Forest.

The duo walked through the darkness for what seemed like a long, tedious, anxious eternity, occasionally stumbling on a tree root or jumping at the hoot of an owl. Every few minutes, they would stop and strain their ears for any sounds from their colleagues, the missing student, or something that could put them in danger. Unfortunately, they had no success; this particular part of the Forest appeared to be as silent as the grave, and as empty. The light from the two wands was very faint and covered only a short distance, and Hermione really had no idea what could be standing even five feet away from her. After fifteen minutes, she began silently praying that soon the missing girl would stumble across their path, they would run back up to the school shouting in joy, and all this would pass like a nightmare. She didn't want to classify this as another strange 'occurrence'; as long as she convinced herself that Irene Farnsworth ran away due to her own personal problems, there was a possibility that they all were not in as much danger as McGonagall was leading them to believe.

Hermione and Ron had been walking for a near half hour; they must have been quite deep into the Forest, seeing as the sun was high above the lake by now and only snippets of its light could reach them through the dense trees. The canopy of the Forest was thick as well, but Hermione could still make out the littering of the snow amongst the leaves; a flake here or there was able to escape through to the ground, but mostly, the snow was scant. The cold temperatures, however, were not. Hermione's clothes were still soaked from the travel down to the Forest, and she felt as if they were beginning to freeze to her body. Again she wished she had brought a cloak with her.

Suddenly, something unexpected pounced down from a high branch, screeching and knocking Hermione off her feet. She hit the ground with so much force that her vision was blurred and the scene swam before her, coming in an out of focus at a rapid and nauseating pace. She was vaguely aware of her wrist being clawed at ferociously as soft fur tickled at her nose. She struggled to sit up but her back cracked and refused such movement, as did whatever had ambushed her. It insisted on clawing her arm to pieces, despite her painful yet fruitless attempts to wriggle free.

Another creature fell from the tree, landing on Hermione's stomach and attempting to violently attack her wrist along with its partner. She felt her skin open and could smell the blood from the wound as it seeped through the arm of her robe. Ron's shouts mingled with the screeches from the creatures made Hermione's head throb; she could hear Ron's footsteps as he rushed forward, grabbing at the assailants and yelling out curse after curse. A sharp pain began to spread up Hermione's arm, catching her breath in her throat and causing her eyes to water. She knew something of this sort would happen – they really had no clue as to what dangers awaited them in the Forest. But the pain was almost too much to bear, and just as she was about to cry out in anguish, something was ripped from her wrist and the shrieks and shouts ceased immediately. As quickly as it had come, the nightmarish experience was over, the attackers were gone, and the Forest was eerily silent once more.

"Ron?"

Hermione opened her eyes, feeling a wave of dizziness overcome her. A blurred face underneath a crop of red hair came into view, becoming more solid by the minute until Ron's face could clearly be seen. He looked concerned and uneasy, his wand clenched tightly in his right hand, its tip still aglow from just being used. Another jagged pain ran through Hermione's arm and she sat back, breathing heavily.

"What happened?"

She closed her eyes and squeezed tightly, waiting for the pain to pass. When it did, she opened them again and chanced a glance at her arm. A deep, crimson gash where she usually wore her watch was visible, still pouring out fresh blood. The entire robe of her arm was slit; Hermione moved the material aside to reveal several more painful cuts, yet none measuring up to the damage of the first. She was no doctor, but she knew that such speedy blood loss was not a healthy thing for a person.

"You were attacked," said Ron, examining the gash on Hermione's arm, "by a couple of bloodthirsty Nifflers. Don't give me that look, I'm not kidding. See, your watch is gone. I think they were of the South American breed – they're supposed to be a bit more savage than the ones we're used to. Wonder what they're doing up here," he chuckled unsteadily.

"Not funny," Hermione groaned, clutching at her injured arm.

"I've never seen Nifflers attack someone like that before," Ron commented, taking his eyes off Hermione's wound and bending down towards his shoes. "You need to get to the Hospital Wing straight away. You can't loose so much blood like that, and the cut could get infected. Here." He ripped off a piece of material from the hemline of his robes and tightly wrapped it around Hermione's injury, then tying it securely. The pain remained in Hermione's arm, but the blood stopped as a new feeling of numbness replaced it. She knew she would be all right, for the time being.

"I'll stay," Hermione mumbled, clinging to a nearby tree trunk and pushing herself to her feet. "I'll be fine, really. I need to help look for the girl."

Ron eyed her warily, as if questioning her health like a mother would. For a moment, Hermione thought he might protest, but instead he gave her an exasperated look and sighed, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. There was no point in telling Hermione she could not help in the search for the missing student, because as stubborn as she was known to be, she would always win.

Hermione steadied herself against the tree and marched off in a random direction, very well aware of Ron trailing behind her. She kept her eyes peeled for any more fierce, murderous Nifflers, but came in contact with none as the two of them traveled deeper and deeper into the Forest. Soon the sun was blocked out completely by the trees and Hermione and Ron were forced to rely on the thin light from their wands.

About ten minutes into their continued journey, Hermione found herself privately admitting that she had no idea where they were. As well as she had explored the Forest before, she knew there were still many parts of it she had not seen, her current surroundings being one of those areas. The plants were large and much taller than Hermione herself, with round, waxy leaves. The trees were thicker than five grown men standing close together and every so often, a native-sounding bird would hoot forlornly, its cries sounding like somewhat of a warning, telling Hermione and Ron to turn back before they became completely lost. _Too late_, Hermione thought. _We _are _lost._

"Erm… Ron?" Hermione mumbled, carefully stepping around a bubbling pit of what appeared to be mud. "Do you know where we are?"

There was silence for a moment in which Hermione whirled around wildly to make sure Ron was still behind her. She found him standing quite still some six feet away, his head cocked in a direction to his left, his eyes alive with deep, focused concentration.

"Ron?" Hermione asked again, thinking he hadn't heard her.

"Shush."

He raised his wand slightly, still staring towards a dark patch of dense trees. Hermione saw nothing moving in the shadows and decided to strain her ears as well; the try was vain, as she heard nothing save for another hoot of a despondent owl.

"What _are _you doing?" Hermione asked with a quaver in her voice.

"Thought I heard something," muttered a slightly abashed-looking Ron.

Hermione turned around and, raising her wand for light, began traveling through the underbrush once more, Ron close behind. She attempted to steady her breathing, but it didn't quite work; Ron's words still remained in her mind. What had he heard? What had he seen? Hopefully not another Niffler – Hermione had no more burnished jewelry to spare. Perhaps it was just a stray hare chasing a mouse across a patch of leaves. This _was _a forest, after all. There was bound to be other animals around.

A pronounced snap of a twig quite nearby caused Hermione to jump and stumble backwards into Ron. They both raised their wands instinctively, focusing on a certain area somewhat to their left. This time, Hermione was certain something, or someone, was hiding just behind the cover of the trees. She prepared herself for another oncoming attack; whether this was the student, who could possibly be deranged, another mad creature, or something entirely different, she had no way of knowing.

They could hear footsteps but were not sure whether or not they belonged to a human. The footsteps were closing in on them; twigs and leaves crackled as the owner of the footsteps neared where Hermione and Ron were rooted to the spot, terrified and not knowing how to react. Ron glanced sideways at Hermione and put a solitary finger to his lips, giving her the signal to keep absolutely quiet. She nodded in complete comprehension; she wouldn't have been able to scream even if she tried, since her voice had mysteriously disappeared somewhere into the dark depths of the Forest. Ron edged forward slightly, and Hermione caught a brief look of pure panic on his face, but it vanished quickly and was replaced with a strong expression of determination. He raised his wand, tightening his grip on it each second, just as the footsteps came to a halt less ten feet away.

"What –?"

"_EXPELLIARMUS!_"

Hermione ducked and hit the ground as a blinding light burst from the trees, illuminating the scene of Ron flying backwards into a tree trunk and a figure charging out after its spell. She felt a breeze as someone ran past her towards Ron, exchanging quick curses so rapid and slurred that Hermione could not make out what he and Ron were shouting. Something about the second voice, which was definitely male, seemed oddly familiar…

"_Stupefy! STUPEFY!"_

Knowing she was testing her luck, Hermione raised her head a fraction of an inch above the ground, just as a beam of light narrowly missed the very top of her head. Ron was darting behind trees, his pursuer attempting to blast the life out of him at the same time. But apparently, Ron was not paying attention to his opponent… the clearing was elucidated from the spells and Hermione could quite clearly make out both of the fighting figures, and she could not suppress the gasp that rose in her throat when she realized who exactly Ron was battling with.

"Ron! Ron, _stop_!"

"Not now, Hermione!" Ron replied angrily, dodging behind a large boulder.

Hermione quickly pushed herself to her feet and, crouching low, dashed towards the brawl. Neither of the two men paid any attention to her, fortunately, just as she had hoped. She flung her arms to her face as Ron sent a curse unintentionally her way and waited till the streak of fiery radiance passed before attempting to stealthily approach the war once more. Ron's attacker, now only a meager five feet from Hermione, was clutching his ribs with one hand, shooting spells at Ron with the other, and breathing quite heavily at the same time.

Ron opened his mouth widely, waving his arms in a very impressive, intricate fashion, and let loose an almightily yell. An excruciatingly brilliant beam erupted from the end of his wand, charging at both the pursuer and Hermione, who was standing behind him. Hermione made an impulse decision and lurched forward, forcefully pushing the man to the ground and landing crushingly on top of him, just as the spell passed over their backs. Hermione could hear Ron growl in frustration and when she was sure the battle had come to an end, she lifted herself up to stare in the face of the man who she had just saved from quite a bit of damage.

Hermione"

The familiar face, now streaked with mud and dirt, stared astonishingly at both Hermione and Ron as he and Hermione stood to face each other. Ron rushed forward, his wand still raised high, looking as if he was about to murder Hermione for saving the life of his assailant.

"Dammit, what was that for?" he asked Hermione in a voice trembling with rage. But when he caught sight of the bemused face of the intruding man, his wand hand fell limp, along with his face.

"_Harry_? What the bloody hell?"

Harry stood, brushing muddy leaves off his tattered robes and stuffing his wand back up his sleeve. "Not bad," he muttered at Ron. "Your dueling's a bit rusty, though, if you don't mind me saying."

Ron sighed, a look of relief flittering across his face. "Sorry, mate," he said. "Didn't realize it was you. I think the Forest's got us all a bit jumpy right now."

Harry shrugged, then turned to Hermione. "Thanks for saving my life, by the way."

"Have you found anything?" Hermione asked quickly. She was already able to predict the answer, however, due to the swift change in Harry's countenance.

"Nothing more than you've probably found," said Harry. "I just left Ginny and Desdemona about twenty minutes ago. They had spotted a set of footprints that matched the student's description, but about fifty feet into the search, a blanket of fresh now seemed to have fallen and wiped them away."

Hermione groaned and sunk onto a log. They had been penetrating every inch of the Forest for at least two hours, most likely more, by now, and they had gained no new information at all. It seemed as if Irene Farnsworth did not want to be found and Hermione was secretly beginning to suspect that Irene would not have to worry about it; she honestly did not think they would find her at all.

"There is something, though," Harry spoke up suddenly with a new, tense air in his voice. "I checked my room, like McGonagall suggested. I thought she was just being batty again; why would anyone take something of mine? But…"

"But what?" Hermione urged.

Harry was silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not he should share whatever was on his mind with his friends. Then he said, "Ron… the records are gone."

Hermione was clueless as to what Harry was talking about, but Ron, obviously, was not. His eyes widened, giving him the distinct look of a frightened frog with its head aflame. All color drained from his face as he stared at Harry in dismayed shock. Hermione's stomach promptly began twisting into knots.

"They're _gone_? What - do you think _she_ took them?"

"What records?" Hermione chimed in.

"The Aurors keep a book of records containing the information we've gained in this mission," Harry explained, his face slowly becoming more void of color by the second as he continued do dwell on the thought. "You know, about the Death Eaters and Bellatrix Lestrange. They entrusted me to protect the book. And it's missing, along with this girl." He sighed and ran a dirty hand through his messy, crumpled hair. "This is bad. If that book falls into the wrong hands, it's all over."

Harry looked to Ron, who looked to Hermione, who looked back at Harry. They all understood the magnitude of the disappearance of both the girl and the book, _especially_ the book, which could unravel everything they'd worked hard towards. It could also give their enemy quite an unfair advantage over them, something they most certainly did not need. If the records book did fall into the wrong hands of someone on the opposing side… a Death Eater, or perhaps even Bellatrix Lestrange herself… then the trio, their colleagues, their students, and the entire wizarding world had just plunged into a whole new league of danger.

A piercing scream not far from their spot of isolation broke through their thoughts, pulling them all forcefully back into reality. Without a moment's hesitation, the trio scrambled to their feet and began hustling through the Forest in search of the intimidating sound. They had only one concurrent idea on their minds: get to the source of the shrieking before it was too late.


	18. Tragedy in the Forest

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I'm still alive! And as a little holiday treat, I've written a new chapter for you all! I apologize for taking so long to write this. I realize my past few chapters have come at a rather slow and inexcusable pace. I had finals last week at school (dreadful, dreadful … fortunately, I passed them all with B's or higher), I've been doing hysterical last-minute Christmas shopping along with the rest of the world, my social life has taken a turn for the better, and sometimes I suffer from short-term writer's block and just can't work up the incentive to finish paragraphs. That does not mean I am thinking about leaving this story. I'm rather fond of my little plot so far, and how well this has been going. I just cannot devote as much time as I wish I could, therefore resulting in the slow postings. :

As I hope you all know already : book six is coming out **July 16th, 2005**! Hurrah, hurrah! Only half a year away … but that will definitely give us all something to look forward to, eh? So hopefully, I'll be able to finish this never-ending story before then, giving me ample time to read, re-read, re-re-read, and mourn over whoever dies.

I know this chapter is a tiny bit shorter than the others, but I'm desperate to post this before Christmas in the US and it just seemed an appropriate time to stop.

Let this be a warning : this chapter was very difficult for me to write, because of a certain event that takes place that I hope should never take place in real life. I am not a demonic, homicidal person … certain things fit with the plot that I have to include. A writer must do the best he or she can at creating a good story, and sometimes, some things are a bit … erm, delicate.

So read on, and tell me what you think – am I confusing you? Am I answering questions? Did this chapter suck? Was it not as suspenseful as I thought it was? Was it too sickening? Should I stop with the questions?

Happy holidays and Merry Christmas. :)

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**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: TRAGEDY IN THE ****FOREST**

The alarming scream that had alerted the shaken trio resounded throughout the eerily silent Forest. Birds rose from the tops of the trees and hares took off down the snow-littered paths towards their burrows. The shriek, prolonged and terrifying, seemed to be more feminine than masculine. It could have easily come from a colleague, or perhaps the missing student. Hermione ran different scenarios through her mind as she, Ron, and Harry battled with the fierceness of the Forbidden Forest to reach their destination. The jungle of trees appeared to be unusually unruly in this particular area, making it difficult for the three adults to travel.

As quickly as the scream had come, it had stopped. Five seconds, perhaps, had it lasted. It sounded as if it came from the left, so the group headed relatively northwest in hopes of coming in contact with the victim in question.

A stinging sensation arose in Hermione's injured arm as they traveled on, interfering with her breathing and making it difficult to keep up with Harry and Ron. The wound was still fresh and quite open to infection, she knew, but nothing would deter her from her mission. She gritted her teeth together, stumbling over tree roots and ducking under low branches, as she kept a steady pace aside Harry and Ron. The sooner they reached the origin of the scream, the sooner they would probably find the missing student … and the sooner she would receive medical attention at the school. She imagined her arm would take a few hours, perhaps even a day, to heal, as bad as the wound seemed to be – maybe she would even take a day off from teaching, as she had been quite tired as of late …

Hermione's thoughts were abruptly interrupted when another shriek rang through the cold, crisp air. Voices drifted in their direction, harsh voices that had an inhuman air about them. She could hear a strange, garbled language being spoken in tones she did not recognize. Sparks of light vividly flashed through the trees, lighting a path to the source of the commotion. Hermione's arm gave another painful throb, causing her eyes to water, but she pushed herself on after Harry and Ron, who had identical panic-stricken expressions visible on their faces.

"STOP! IMPEDIMENTA! _IMPEDIMENTA_!"

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, darting ahead of Harry and quickening his pace.

Screeches and heavy footsteps reverberated throughout the Forest. The trio seemed to be enclosing on the pandemonium; the Forest floor shook as more roars disturbed the tranquility. Harry and Ron both stopped dead in their tracks, raising their wands in anticipation and looking straight on through a patch of thick trees. Harry turned his neck around and shot Hermione a glance, as if warning her to stay back.

"What?" Hermione asked indignantly.

"I think it'd be best if you stayed here," Harry muttered, edging forward ever so slightly.

"Excuse me, but I am the trained WIA spy here. You should be thankful to have such an asset to your team," said Hermione, furrowing her brow in both annoyance and pain due to the excruciating sting in her arm.

"She's hurt her arm," Ron explained to Harry as if Hermione wasn't standing a foot behind him. "She should run back up to the school and alert McGonagall, then go on to the Hospital Wing. We can take it form here, don't you think?"

"Agreed."

"I will _not_ do anything of the sort," Hermione hissed. Harry and Ron both turned to face her, their wands still raised. "My arm is just as good as anyone's. In fact, I don't feel anything at all anymore. I think it's completely healed, actually," she added, clenching her teeth.

"Hermione, we don't know what we're dealing with here," Harry said. "Stay here as a look out and yell to us if anyone's coming. Or, like Ron said, get McGonagall. She needs to be notified –" Harry was cut off as a mass of green sparks burst through the tops of the trees, illuminating the sky like fireworks. Complicated curses were exchanged for a few seconds, followed by muffled screams and gruff shouts. Hermione noted how quickly the remaining color drained from Harry's already stark face.

"Come on, Ron," Harry muttered gravely. Him and Ron whirled around and headed towards the dense patch of evergreens. Multicolored flashes of light elucidated their figures and their straight, determined faces. Watching them retreat away from her, Hermione clung onto her arm, which was still freshly drenched in her own blood. She squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds, willing the pain to go away, before snapping them open again. Her good arm shot down to her pocket; she withdrew her wand and within a moment, an impulse decision was made.

"What the hell -?"

Shoving Ron aside forcefully, Hermione pushed past the two Aurors, her wand raised high above her head. Harry and Ron stopped and watched, flabbergasted, as their female companion darted towards the scene of commotion. Earsplitting shrieks and more explosions of light came from behind the trees, but Hermione did not hesitate. Her hand reached out towards the curtain of branches that blocked her view …

"Hermione, NO!"

A second later, Hermione stepped onto the scene. She felt her body become immobile with shock and was rooted to the spot, only able to stare. Twisted trees bordered the spacious clearing she was standing in, giving the area an ethereal look. But she paid hardly any attention to her nature surroundings; instead, her gaze was focused on the baffling sight that met her eyes.

A horde of massive beasts were rampaging around the clearing. At closer inspection, Hermione realized them to be actual Acromantulas, the very creatures that Harry and Ron had the pleasure of meeting in their second year. Their very own colleagues, all of whom who had been involved in the search for the missing girl, were battling with the Acromantulas. Bursts of rainbow-colored lights came from various wands across the clearing; the over-sized spiders dodged the spells and curses with ease, clicking their pincers and speaking a bizarre language of their own.

Hermione caught a glimpse of red hair as a figure moved past her. The girl, who turned out to be Ginny, glanced at Hermione for a mere second, and then did a double take. A smaller Acromantula was just inches behind her, squeaking eerily and lashing its tongue.

"_Hermione?_What are you –?"

Ginny spun around with a shriek as the beast attached itself to the hem of her robes. She pointed her wand just between its eyes and yelled a curse; a moment later, the spider was blown with force out of the clearing and across the tops of many trees.

"Stay back!" Ginny warned Hermione before dashing across the clearing to assist Desdemona, who was being cornered by a rather nasty-looking duo of Acromantulas.

_This is complete chaos_, Hermione thought. If someone didn't do something soon, half the teachers at Hogwarts would be finished off by a pack of ravenous Acromantulas. Hermione honestly did not understand why these creatures were being so hostile; usually, Acromantulas only attack when provoked, or when a human wanders into their lair. This most certainly did not seem to be a lair. But then again, Acromantulas _were_ deranged beasts that one did not fancy coming in contact with. Remembering an ancient spell that she had picked up while traveling through Greece, Hermione raised her wand once more, summoning all the power that she could while still attempting to ignore the throbbing pang in her arm.

"_ARACHNESTATUM!_"

Much to Hermione's relief, the scene immediately fell silent. Acromantulas across the clearing found themselves immobilized, some in mid-air, some just inches away from their victims. The other professors looked as if they were immobilized themselves, but when they realized they were still able to budge, they pulled themselves off the ground, brushing their robes off and gazing around at their peers. Professor Flitwick took this opportunity to wave his wand magnificently in a circle; seconds later, the Acromantulas had disappeared into thin air, and only small twinklings of light signified where they once were. Still, Hermione couldn't help but grin at her own cleverness.

Harry and Ron crashed into the clearing behind Hermione. Still stumbling, they stared in astonishment from Hermione and the glowing tip of her wand to their colleagues and the fading shimmers. Neither one had any intention of speaking.

"Still think I'm useless?" Hermione muttered under her breath, smirking at the two. She did not wait for an answer and instead rushed towards Ginny, who was closest, and began helping her off the grimy Forest floor.

"Thanks," Ginny breathed, massaging the side of her head where a very nasty bump was visible. Her robes were torn, as were everyone else's, but other than that, she appeared to be quite in tact. "Where did you learn a thing like that?"

"Just picked it up somewhere," Hermione muttered absentmindedly. Her vision blurred for a moment; the pain in her arm had returned, more noticeable and prominent than ever. Blood was still seeping through her robes and by now, her entire arm was drenched in the crimson, sticky liquid.

"You saved us all," Ginny continued. "I don't think many of us have much experience with Acromantulas. Bloody beasts," she added, bending down to adjust her shoes, one of which had a large gaping whole where her toes stuck out. "One of them decided to take a bite out of my foot, see? Just barely missed my skin."

Ginny's head reappeared and a concerned look crossed her face. "Hey, are you okay? What's the matter with your arm?"

"Nothing," Hermione grunted. "Just cut it on a branch, that's all."

"What the hell's going on?" Harry demanded, stepping into the light of the clearing and gazing around at his colleagues with a bemused look on his face. There was not one face that did not possess a startled or frightened countenance. Each and every person was as white as the snow; their features appeared to be set in stone and, Hermione quickly realized, they all appeared to be staring in one unanimous direction.

"Gin, what are you staring at?" Ron asked Ginny curiously. She was gazing at something just over Hermione's shoulder, her eyes round with terror and a peculiar look apparent on her face.

"I don't believe it," Professor Sprout whispered.

"Believe what?" said Ron, turning to follow the gazes of Ginny and the others. Hermione watched as his jaw fell slack and a look similar to everyone else's formed on his face. "Bloody hell," he repeated.

A sickening feeling began to grow in Hermione's abdomen as she too turned her body, interested in what was keeping her colleagues so occupied yet knowing that whatever it was, it was nothing to be excited about. And the sight that met her eyes was a terrible one that she would never forget.

Something was hanging from a thick tree branch in the shadows. Hermione's vision was once again distorting; she squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore her agonizing injury and attempting to make out what she was seeing. To her left, Harry was drawing out his wand and pointing it towards the shadows.

"_Lumos_."

A concurrent intake of breath swept the clearing, mingling with the high-pitched shriek that came from Hermione. She wanted more than anything to take her eyes off the scene before her, but she knew that she couldn't – it was terribly appalling yet captivating at the same time. In all her years of service to the WIA, she had never seen a sight so nauseating and dreadful. Nothing made any sense. She tried convincing herself that her eyes were tricking her, but it was not successful.

There wasn't some_thing_ hanging from the tree branch – there was some_one_. Like the punishment for criminals that had not been witnessed in centuries, a person was hanging from the tree, in a noose. The mangled body was motionless, its dark robes hanging off of it limply. Hermione felt like becoming violently sick on the spot; this was purely _inhumane_. Whether Muggle or wizard, people were not hanged anymore like this. It simply was not done.

"That's _her_," Harry said in a strangled sort of voice. "That's – that's the missing student."

"Oh, God," Hermione murmured.

Nobody was able to speak for what seemed like ages. All eyes were focused on the act of cruelty before them; all hearts were broken, slashed, sickened. Ginny let out a small sob next to Hermione and buried her frost-bitten face in her hands. Hermione herself had to fight back tears. Just days before, Irene Farnsworth, a mere fourth year, had been sitting in the back of her class, quietly taking notes and doing the work as asked. Hermione barely even noticed her. She was a shy, reserved girl, but a good student nevertheless. And now she was dead. Murdered.

Footsteps interrupted the silence and Hermione, finally tearing her eyes away from the dead girl, twisted her neck to see McGonagall stumbling onto the scene. Bella was just feet behind her, looking as shaken and traumatized as anyone. McGonagall's hair was bouncing and falling out of her tight bun, framing her bleak, flabbergasted face. The crowd stepped apart to let her though; she came to a halt at Hermione's side and stared, just as everyone else had, upon seeing such an awful tragedy.

"Bella said – but I did not believe it –" McGonagall managed, her lips barely moving as the words came out. "I don't – there's no way. Is she surely -?"

Harry stepped forward and stretched out his arm towards the limp corpse. He seized a wrist and stood still for a minute. Then –

"There's no trace of a pulse at all," he muttered, letting the wrist flop down at the girl's side again. "She's dead."

McGonagall let out a small ''oh'' and put a hand to her chest, her gaze still transfixed on the figure hanging from the tree. Hermione studied the expression in her face; it was a difficult one to read, but Hermione was able to conclude that McGonagall was as stunned as she was. If McGonagall didn't have an answer for this heinous act, then who would?

"Did – did anyone witness this?" Her question was met with shakes of the head. "Does anyone have _any_ idea what … what happened?" Still more shakes.

"I believe I was the first to find her," Desdemona spoke up in a small voice, which was quite unlike her. All eyes moved from the girl to her. She glanced around, her expression still identical to the ones of her colleagues, before continuing. "I had been following a set of footprints and it led me to this clearing. When I got here, a horde of Acromantulas was gathered around the body, probably preparing to feast on it since they're attracted to human meat. I realized what it was and … and I tried frightening the Acromantulas off, but there were too many, so I imagine I screamed and started sending up sparks. Then the others got here, and we attempted to fight them off to preserve the body, but it didn't work. Vicious creatures, they are. Fortunately, Hermione here turned up and did some foreign spell that immobilized them, and Filius poofed them back to wherever they came from." When she had finished, Desdemona took several deep breaths of the cold, winter air.

"This – this is horrible," McGonagall murmured, possibly more to herself than the others. These words seemed to be the only ones she could speak. "One of our own students has just been brutally murdered," she whispered in disbelief. Then, straightening her back a little, she turned around to face the small crowd of professors all waiting for an answer from their leader.

"The Ministry will have to be notified straight away," McGonagall announced. "There is no way around this and it would only look bad on our part if we attempted to conceal this tragedy. Ginny, please send one of our fastest owls out to the Minister as soon as we arrive back at the school. Tell him to bring along his best specialists that deal with crimes in this field. I will send out an owl to the girl's family personally. No one is to say a word to the students, understand? I will call an emergency assembly tonight and address the whole school at once.

"Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, the fact is that we have a murderer in our midst. I highly doubt that any one of my trusted colleagues is responsible for this heinous act, but we can't be too careful. New rules will be issued to each common room immediately. Students and professors alike will be warned to watch for their own safety. Doors and passages will be tightly locked.

"Please, if any of you come across any evidence at all that may be beneficial to me or the Ministry, do not hesitate to come forward. Quite honestly, I believe that Hogwarts and all its inhabitants are in very grave danger. Our main priority now is to keep the students calm. I do not want a repeat of the dreadful misfortune we have all witnessed this morning. You are dismissed back to the castle."

McGonagall took one swift look around the clearing and at the corpse hanging from the tree before turning on her heel in a direction that vaguely led to the castle. Hermione was amazed at how serious and strong the woman could remain in such a state of emergency. While she felt as if she were crumbling away herself, McGonagall somehow managed to give off an air of bravery, like none of this affected her at all, while Hermione knew that it really affected her as much as anyone.

The clearing slowly emptied as the other professors silently made their way back up to the castle in the path of McGonagall. Some of them stole woeful glances at the unfortunate girl while some did not turn their heads at all, wanting to rid their mind of the awful image forever. Hermione knew that as hard as she would try, the image would forever permeate her brain.

Harry and Ron had been lingering some five feet away from the hanging corpse, watching the other professors disappear amongst the snow-covered trees. Harry was glancing periodically at the girl, a strange expression engulfing face. Hermione did not make any motion to follow the last professor, Sprout; instead, she remained behind with Harry and Ron, knowing that they were up to something.

When the final footsteps faded away into the silence, Ron turned to Harry. "They're gone. Go for it," he said.

Harry dodged forward and grabbed the girl's robes. Hermione watched close by, utterly confused at what he was doing, and why he would want to come in such close contact with a dead body. Seconds later, he was extracting something yellow from inside a pocket; straining her eyes and moving towards Harry, Hermione realized it was a crumbled piece of parchment.

"What is _that_?" Hermione asked. She and Ron quickly gathered behind Harry as he began to open the parchment.

"This," Harry said, a note of excitement in his voice, "is a piece of paper that I noticed five minutes ago sticking out of Farnsworth's pocket. And from the looks of it, it's probably a note the killer left behind for us to find."

"Harry," Hermione scolded, grabbing his hand before he could smooth out the paper to read. "This is _evidence_. We need to take this to McGonagall, remember? This is a potential clue that could possibly give us a lead on who killed her. And the other professors are just as involved as we are." However, a moment after Hermione finished her last sentence, she realized how incorrect it actually was.

"They aren't _half_ as involved as we are," Harry said angrily, and Hermione knew it to be true. "McGonagall would only confiscate it and hand it over to the Ministry. They're in this now too, you know. And we want them to know as little as possible.. Now let go, this could be important. I think I have a pretty good idea what's going on here."

Hermione drew back her hand as Harry flattened the parchment. Together, the trio read the note silently as Harry read aloud.

"'Because of your foolishness, this girl is now dead. You have been warned to stay out of this case for the last time, and you know which case I speak of. Unless you wish for more students to meet the same end as this imprudent child, you will heed my advice. Hogwarts is my playground; no amount of spells and charms can impede me.

"'And Potter – I do hope you'll miss your book.

"'Signed,

B.L.'"

No one spoke after Harry finished reading the letter. No one could form any comprehensible thoughts as they were all equally suffering from shock and confusion. Nothing made any sense to Hermione. Nothing, except –

"B.L. … Bellatrix Lestrange."


	19. The Aftermath

**Author's Notes:** I honestly cannot believe that I haven't updated since DECEMBER. I'm so embarassed. I'm sure you've all forgotten who I am by now... you probably can't remember anything about the story, either, because I know that even I had to go back and re-read a good portion of it before I could write this chapter. With the Half-Blood Prince coming out in July and the fourth movie premiering in November, recently, I just kind of got into a Harry Potter mood and decided to continue this story. I _really_ have no intention of dropping it, because it has grown so much and is possibly my best fan fiction I have ever written.

I know for a fact I'll be updating this story MUCH MORE this summer... one update in five months is pathetic. I know that. But like I said, school's out and I won't be traveling too much in the next couple months, so I'll definitely be around. And I've had a revelation... I also have a new-found devotion to BCD, which means I'm even less likely to abandon it now. True, I have become less of a Potter-fanatic lately, but that doesn't mean I have to totally give up my love for Harry.

I must apologize ahead of time for this chapter. I am aware that it is probably the dullest one so far, which is not a good thing for a reader to hear before they are about to read it. Please don't let that keep you from reviewing... if I find that you all have lost interest, I may as well just dump this fic, which I really don't want to do. Anyway, Hermione does a lot of thinking in this chapter, or rather, you really get a picture of what's going on inside her head concerning a few topics. It kind of builds up for a few things to come and gives you some necessary background information. Of course, the upcoming chapters will be far more interesting and suspenseful... I don't intend to bore you all up until the end. You haven't waited five months for that.

Another thing I must address is the issue of Hermione and Ron... or lack there-of. I _know_ I said this would be a HG/RW fic, and it is... or at least, will be quite soon. It's just so difficult to incorporate everything into this story, and weaving it into an interesting fashion so that it all makes sense and ties in together is hard. I've screwed a few things up, mentioned something or other and then never used it again, written one thing and then something contradictory... hopefully you haven't noticed too many mistakes. I also forget things that I brought into the story back in the early chapters - I'll try to do a better job of _not_ forgetting from now on. As I was saying, I'm promising you that something will happen between Hermione and Ron; I didn't want to rush into anything with the two so early, because you all must understand the animosity and hurt between them. I also definitely don't want this to turn into a sappy, cheesy love story... that isn't the real plot here. But I agree it would be nice to have some of that on the side. What's a story without some good romance?

I think that's everything I had to say... I do hope there are people still reading this. Don't give up hope on me, please. Without you and your reviews, this story is nothing!

If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask in a review. And look for a new chapter shortly after this one.

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**CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE AFTERMATH**

The final days of term passed by excruciatingly slow at Hogwarts. While blankets of snow fell mercilessly from the cloudy skies outside the walls, inside students were preparing for their winter leave. Professors were gleefully looking forward to two weeks devoid of teaching and accidentally began expressing their good moods in their classes. Desdemona, who was notorious for assigning large amounts of work over the holidays, had been letting her students leave class without so much as a page to read or a note to take. In recent days, Flitwick had abandoned any hope at teaching a lesson and instead left his students to sprout tinsel and mistletoe out the ends of their wands. As many noticed, even Professor Snape decided to give up torturing students and could usually be found pacing at the back of his classroom, his dark head down in concentration and no cruel or sardonic remarks escaping from his mouth.

Despite the fact that the castle was bustling with activity, in a few short days' time it would soon be almost empty of life. Students were eagerly looking forward to the Christmas holidays and many, if not all seemed to be spending their vacations away from the school and home with their families. It was rather uncommon to come across a young witch or wizard who would be happy in saying they would remain at Hogwarts over the holidays.

With the obvious holiday decorations present, inside the school and out, the end of the term should have been quite joyful and merry. It was, after all, many a wizard's favorite time of the year, and there was no reason not to look forward to the long break that adults and students alike would soon be enjoying.

It was, however, not joyful or merry in the very least.

A shadow of horror hung over the school like some dark, permanent presence. The corridors were cold and bitter with terror. Students were frightened of solitude and could constantly be found moving around the school like packs of wolves. The professors, who in past years had always been beacons of hope and safety in times of trouble, were as troubled as anyone. During any given lesson, a professor would nervously glance about the room, through the windows, down the hall – it seemed as if concentration was scarce in Hogwarts, especially amongst the elders.

Hermione witnessed this silent pandemonium day after day and was vividly reminded of her own second year, a time when a mysterious beast was roaming free about the school and attacking students at will. She had hoped never to be reminded of anything so dreadful but found herself wishing in vain. The day the missing girl was discovered in the Forest, McGonagall had called an assembly in the Great Hall to explain the tragic misfortune. The reaction of the students was as predicted – shock, terror, disgust, panic. Only hours later owls began flying in from concerned parents, begging that their children be sent home, demanding answers, criticizing McGonagall and the staff, and wildly expressing their own worries and suspicions about the situation. Needless to say, the school, including all who inhabited it, was in unbelievable chaos.

When an event as horrifying as a murder occurs, the area in which it was committed becomes a symbol of fear. No one, adult or child, was allowed to enter the Forbidden Forest on any grounds, not that anybody had any intentions of doing so. A ghastly veil seemed to be draped over Hogwarts – Hogwarts, the once brilliant and majestic school, was now hampered with the burden of a gruesome death.

Quite appropriately, new rules were strongly being enforced within the Hogwarts walls. Hermione, along with the rest of the school, heeded McGonagall's advice and her fresh cautions set to protect the staff and students. As they were all constantly reminded, a ferocious murderer who obviously had no problem with attacking innocent wizards was on the loose; whether the killer was a student, a professor, inside the school, or outside, no one had any means of knowing. Hermione knew that it was one thing when a dangerous person was lurking around the grounds with intentions of homicide, but it was another thing entirely when that very person could have been be _any_ person, even the simplest ones that Hermione came in contact with every day. While she hoped none of her students would be as cold-blooded as to harm a fellow peer, she also prayed none of her coworkers were any more murderous than they looked.

The Ministry was brought into the whole situation, of course. As McGonagall explained, it would look terribly suspicious on their part if they attempted to conceal such a disaster, and somehow, the news would eventually leak out to the media. Almost immediately, the Minister himself and a group of investigators arrived at the scene. Students watched curiously from the windows up at Hogwarts while the officials marched across the lawns of their school. Soon after, more Ministry employees, along with Healers from St. Mungo's, had begun appearing, and quite a large crowd had formed down along the baseline of the Forbidden Forest. In less than half an hour later, the Minister and McGonagall re-emerged from within the depths of the trees, this time accompanied by a strange, deformed figure on a floating stretcher. And almost as soon as they had came, the wintry grounds of Hogwarts were empty of human life once more, save for the many sets of footprints scattered in the snow, and it seemed as if nothing horrifying had occurred at all.

The entire school knew, however, that something horrifying _had_ happened, and it was not going to be easily wiped from their minds anytime soon.

"So, in conclusion," Professor Granger said, pacing back and forth at the front of her classroom of fourth-years, "in order to successfully transform a broom into a swan, what key factors are needed?"

It was a sunny afternoon, the last afternoon that Hogwarts students would be spending at the school before the holidays. The intense light of the sun reflected its rays off the snow that was still covering the grounds, illuminating the scene brilliantly and blinding any who dared to chance a glance out the windows. After much confusion and chaos only days before, the school had been oddly stoic and quiet as of late. Many students and teachers alike had been counting down the hours till the last class of the day, now leaving only minutes until the final bell would ring. Hermione had been drilling her students for the past hour and a half, attempting to squeeze out as much information as possible from their minds before everything was forgotten once again over the break. Unfortunately, she had not been very triumphant.

In response to Hermione's question, all hands were kept down. The fourth-years avoided her gaze and pretended to be mildly interested in the woodwork of their desks. The frustrated professor was aware that her students _did_ know the answer to the question asked, but instead they decided to pretend as if they were rather stupid.

"Well, anyone?" Hermione begged. She stopped pacing to stare her class down. "We've gone over this before. Remember the lesson earlier this week? The key factors are... the _key factors are_..."

"Please, Professor," whined a small voice. "We've only got a few minutes left and then we're free – can't you give us a break?"

Many others agreed in timid tones, none able to look at the professor and all anxiously glancing towards the door. Hermione moved her eyes across the class, staring into the face of each student, attempting to decipher their individual thoughts, until her gaze fell upon an empty seat in the center of the room. With a pang, she realized this was the seat of Irene Farnsworth, the child so ordinary she was almost invisible, and so unfortunate she was now dead.

"Er – well." Hermione adopted her severe professor-tone and placed her hands on her hips. "I suppose I could let you off easy, since it's the holidays and all... but I expect each and every one of you to study vigorously over break. Or at least give it a shot. I don't want my students to come back next year duller than when they first arrived."

Several students gave pitiful sighs, looking reproachfully at the clock on the wall and exchanging pathetic glances. In an instant, Hermione felt sorry for scolding the class; they were going through a tough time, after all. The last thing any student needed before break was their professor ordering them to study vigorously on their vacation.

"We'll review when term resumes," Hermione said, discarding the remainder of the day's lesson plans into the trashcan. "You may leave when the bell sounds – I'll be in my office. Have a nice break."

The class began to murmur amongst themselves as Hermione gathered her papers and retreated into the solitude of her office. The small room was very studious-looking but fit Hermione's personality well; the dark, wood-paneled walls and shiny floor made for a very comfortable atmosphere. She felt a bitter breeze against her cheek and realized her window was ajar, though she had not remembered leaving it open. Hermione crossed the room and leaned against the ledge for a moment, letting her eyes roam about the empty Hogwarts grounds. The winter breeze chilled her face but she didn't mind – in a strange way, she rather enjoyed the wind biting at her nose and chapping her lips. In the distance, Hermione could see the tree line of the Forbidden Forest, looking as menacing as ever and now serving as a dark symbol of mystery to the entire school. A shiver involuntarily ran up her back as the image of a corpse hanging from a thick tree entered her mind, but she quickly forced the sinister illustration to leave before she could dwell on it too long.

Suddenly, there was a sharp _smack!_ from the back of the office, and Hermione was rapidly pulled out of her thoughts. Her hand automatically flew to the inside of her robes and in an instant her wand was produced. Twirling around and preparing herself to shout the first curse that came to mind, her eyes fell upon a large dictionary lying in the center of the floor. Her gaze then traveled upward to where she found a classy, bronze owl perched atop her bookshelf. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Hermione lowered her wand and advanced towards the creature, which was pecking around the shelf and causing several more books to topple over onto the floor. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected to find in the back of her office; more deranged Nifflers, perhaps? But ever since the accident in the Forest, the instincts she picked up during spy training had been on high alert. A suspicious-looking bowl of porridge at breakfast, strange shadows in the corridors at night - nearly anything sent her hand creeping towards her wand. Naturally, Hermione wasn't the only apprehensive person in Hogwarts. Just the day before during passing time in between classes, she had been discussing lesson plans with Ginny in an unusually busy hallway when a flash of light and several yells caught her attention. Rushing towards the scene, she had found a very shaken Professor McGonagall grasping her wand tightly, her eyes glued to the floor where a quite ugly snail had curled up inside its shell. After restoring the snail to its human form (it turned out to be a burly Slytherin seventh-year, the kind that made first-years cry just in passing, staring at McGonagall with a look of pure fright on his face), clearing out the corridor of the other interested students, and assuring the professor that no harm was done, the story came out that McGonagall had sworn the Slytherin was about to hex a first year and she turned him into a snail without thinking. Ginny stood at Hermione's side, suppressing giggles, as McGonagall's face turned a lovely shade of maroon before she left the scene with a never-before-seen countenance of embarassment on her face.

The owl hooted softly and stetched out its enormous wings, knocking a miniature globe of the earth off the shelf and into Hermione's arms. She set it aside and reached for the animal, which promptly hopped onto her out-stretched arm. A piece of parchment was clenched in its beak, she realized, and Hermione's stomach did a violent somersault. Many possibilities of what it could contain raced through her head, each as unpleasant as the next, for on countless times before had a letter arrived via owl in difficult times, only to bring even more distressing news. She pried the parchment from the owl's beak, though it seemed reluctant to let go. The owl then gazed at her with deploring eyes, but soon took flight after Hermione announced she had no owl treats, so there was no point in staying.

She unraveled the letter to find that it was from none other than the Ministry of Magic, which she had half expected. Glancing down the paper, she found the message to be rather short, and felt her hands loosen as she realized that no bad news had been brought. Her eyes traveled back up to the top where she read,

_Miss H. Granger:_

_The Ministry has recently been notified of the unfortunate events that have occured at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Concerning this, you are requested to attend a mandatory meeting at our offices on the twentieth of December, beginning promptly at noon. All other information will be released at the given date and time. It is cautioned that you remain alert during the remainder of your stay at Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Joanne Kirk_

_Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic_

Hermione quickly re-read the letter before discarding it onto her neatly-organized desk. Hardly _any_ information at all was given in the short message, so there wasn't much for her to decipher - but what did it mean by "remainder of your stay at Hogwarts"? Surely they wouldn't reassign her, or even worse, _fire_ her? Hermione knew she had an important position at Hogwarts; McGonagall had said she was there for a more significant reason than to fill the position of Transfiguration professor, which was bluntly obvious. Though Harry and Ron were valuable as well, Hermione knew everything was worth nothing without the third part of the trio - herself. Agents were just as sly and cunning as Aurors, which made Hermione quite useful in such a situation.

But the thought of having to evacuate the case, evacuate Hogwarts even, made Hermione's heart sink. _Leave it to the Ministry to be so meddlesome_, she thought bitterly as she strode across her office to the window that was still open from the entrance of the owl. The bell had sounded long ago and her last class of the year - last class ever, perhaps - had already left for dinner, which she knew had probably just begun. Reaching to close the window, Hermione looked out at the sky, which no longer was radiating sunshine but now contained threatening-looking storm clouds, and realized how heartbroken she really would be if she was forced to be removed from the place.

Her stomach grumbled painfully and she noticed how hungry she actually was. After picking up the books strewn across the floor and re-placing them neatly on her bookshelf, Hermione exited her office and headed down the Transfiguration corridor towards the Great Hall. Her own footsteps reverberated throughout the silent and still Hogwarts halls; the entire student body seemed to be attending their last dinner before Christmas vacation, leaving Hermione alone in isolation. Her thoughts began to wander and she realized that through everything that had happened, she hadn't quite taken in the entire picture of the case, and how seriously dangerous it actually was. It hit her all at once - if the Ministry seemed to be threatning to take _her_, of all people, off the case, then perhaps there was more peril involved than she had taken the time to notice. _A student actually _died, Hermione reminded herself painfully. _A student was murdered._ Murdered by, perhaps, the most powerful and fearsome witch of their time. Murdered by a person Hermione had come to hate for bestowing the same fate upon her own parents as she had upon the innocent girl.

She, Ron, and Harry hadn't told anyone - not even McGonagall - about the note from Bellatrix Lestrange they had found in the Forest. Hermione thought this was unwise to keep such a key part of the puzzle from McGonagall, especially when she had specifically ordered them to bring anything of the such to her attention. Hermione begged and scolded and lectured and yelled in her usual fashion, but Harry was adamant in his decision to "keep it quiet". He told her he didn't think this was something other people should know about, and if he told McGonagall, word would get around. Most of the wizarding world, if not all except them and the Aurors, would never connect Bellatrix Lestrange to any of the happenings at Hogwarts. However much she knew that the right thing to do was take the note to McGongall, she had to respect Harry, for she also knew that he had his reasons for doing things - that, and he was in possession of Lestrange's letter, and didn't seem eager to give it up anytime soon.

And another fact that worried Hermione - frightened her, even - was knowing that at the very moment, Bellatrix Lestrange could be holding Harry's missing records book in a circle of her Death Eaters, reading aloud all the information the Aurors had gained and laughing at their own stupidity of letting it fall into the wrong hands. Hermione still did not know what _exactly_ had been in the book, and neither Harry nor Ron had the slightest inclination to tell her, but she knew it was significant. Why else would Lestrange want it? Harry had relayed this piece of information to McGonagall upon their return to the castle that afternoon, and Hermione had witnessed a strange emotion pass over the face of their elder - fear, perhaps? tension? - like she hadn't seen before. There was no conversation, or in-depth discussion like she had hoped (she was just _dying_ to know what secret information the book contained)... McGonagall merely told Harry to send an owl to Auror Headquarters straight away and not to tell anyone else about the book's disappearance.

Halfway to the Great Hall, Hermione thought she heard faint footsteps sounding through the barren halls, which she had deemed to be completely empty by now. They seemed to be coming her way, and as Hermione advanced on with her hand clenching the wand inside her robes, she was bracing herself for whatever she may face around the corner.

"Hermione, is that you?"

Hermione turned the corner sharply with her wand raised to find a familiar face staring at her from halfway down the corridor. She squinted at the person twenty feet down the dark hall and realized, from the candlelight flickering across his face, that it was Harry. With a sigh of relief, she stashed her wand back inside her robes, only to catch a glimpse of him doing do as well.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Looking for you," Harry said, walking towards her, "and wondering why you aren't at dinner. Last one of the year with the students - wouldn't want to miss that, now, would you? And I just wanted to make sure everything was all right. Can't be too careful anymore."

"Everything's fine," Hermione said as she met Harry in the middle of the corridor, in front of a particularily giant window. Snow was now swirling furiously on the other side of the foggy glass and the wind seemed to suddenly pick up speed, beating against the stone walls and roaring like an angry lion. "I was just coming down anyway. Hopefully you've saved some food for me, I'm absolutely starving."

Harry cracked a smile but it quickly faded as he began to reach back inside his robes. "I was up in my room when I got this," he mumbled, pulling out a parchment-colored letter identical to the one on Hermione's desk. "It's from the Ministry - you might want to take a look. Unless you already...?"

"Yeah, I got one," Hermione said, taking the letter from Harry and skimming it over. It was word-for-word exactly the same as her's, which she has expected. "Practically identical. I wonder what this is all about."

"I dunno," said Harry. He stuffed the letter back inside his robes and turned as he and Hermione began walking along the dim corridor in the direction of the Great Hall. "Ron got one too, just minutes after mine arrived. I'm sure it's about the Farnsworth girl, they probably want to squeeze more information out of us. We can't give them much more, though. The note, the missing records book... those are the only two things the Ministry doesn't know about, and we aren't going to tell them."

"Harry," Hermione began, then hesitated before continuing. "Don't you think McGonagall should know -?"

"I've _told _you, I'm not telling her about the note. I know what I'm doing."

"Right. Sorry."

The two walked in silence for several minutes, their shoes clanking down the dark corridors along with the constant howl of the winter wind on the other side of the walls. Eventually, joyous voices began drifting along the hallways, voices of students chatting happily about their vacation plans while feasting on their last supper before the journey home. A delectable aroma met Hermione's nose, only making her yearn more for the delicious food not far away. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she willed it to be quiet, fearing that Harry would hear and have a laugh at her.

They turned a corner and found themselves in the Entrance Hall, with the doors to the Great Hall just feet in front of them and a feast on the other side. Hermione was eager to eat but she stopped suddenly in the middle of the hall, a thought occuring to her.

"Harry," she said again, her voice echoing strangely. "You know the end of the letter, where it mentioned the 'remainder of your stay at Hogwarts?'"

Harry swiveled around to face Hermione. He looked contemplative for a moment, as if he were doing some quick thinking, and then nodded.

"Do you - do you think that was anything significant? I mean, do you think the Ministry might... actually remove us from the case, perhaps? From Hogwarts?"

"I didn't think of that," Harry muttered after a moment's silence, a blank look crossing his face. "Damn, that better not be true. What the hell would the Ministry do without us, though? We know bloody more about this than anyone," he continued as his voice began to rise in anger.

"I know, I know," said Hermione. She glanced around quickly to make sure nobody was in proximity to hear Harry's short tirade. "It just seemed like an odd insinuation. But Harry, I don't think we've realized what kind of danger we're in. We're dealing with - well, with death here."

Another tense silence followed her last comment in which Harry concentrated mightily on the marble floor. Then he raised his head and whispered, "I've dealt with death before, Hermione. I can do it again." Without another word, he turned his back and entered the Great Hall. For a short moment, a wave of conversation wafted out into the empty hall where Hermione stood looking after Harry, and just as quickly, the doors shut again. Hermione suddenly didn't feel hungry in the very least anymore and when she finally found the strength to move her legs, she wandered back up to the staff room, where she knew nobody would bother her.

The following Monday morning, Hermione sat alone by the fire in the staff room, groggily swirling around the dregs in her cup of tea. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, since most of her night was spent mulling over what could possibly happen in the Ministry meeting that she was due to attend in two hours. The staff room was oddly busy for ten in the morning; most professors were usually taking advantage of a student-free school (and to be honest, hardly any students remained for the holidays, especially with a supposed killer on the loose somewhere) but didn't seem to have enough strength to drag themselves out of their comfortable armchairs. Hermione couldn't blame them.

A door creaked open, catching her attention and breaking her reverie, and she looked up to see who had entered the staff room. Long, dark robes and vivid, red hair - Ginny was sitting less than ten feet from Hermione, so it could be none other than Ron. Sure enough, he stepped around the door and into the comfortably occupied room, his arms laden with mysterious, dusty-looking books. Within five seconds he had made eye contact with Hermione, who stared back, still stirring her spoon around her now empty cup. Then he screwed up his face in something resembling a grimace and quickly looked away before dashing up the staircase to his room.

Hermione sighed. She understood that the two of them still weren't on good terms, and honestly, all they had done since their arrival at the school was argue. True, they had formed a strange temporary bond, at the very least, during their journey in the Forest, but had she really expected things to return to _normal_ after that? At least Ron didn't randomly appear in the middle of her lessons anymore, but the glares and frowns of hatred from across the hall or down the table at dinner were enough to make her sick. She was tired of their irrational fighting - she was actually even beginning to forget the reason they weren't talking in the first place. What with everything else going on, the last thing Hermione needed were uncomfortable feelings towards a person she was forced to work with.

The more she thought about it, the more Hermione began to question how she actually _did_ feel towards that stubborn, contemptuous person she once called her friend. After years of no correspondence, it seemed as if a part of her left the same time Harry and Ron did... but she had restored her relationship with Harry, after a few challenges, and now, it was almost as if nothing had gone wrong. So what was the problem with her and Ron? Perhaps if she just confronted him and finally told him -

"Hey."

Harry appeared in Hermione's peripheral vision, startling her into nearly dropping her empty tea cup. She regained her composure and murmured a quick hello as Harry seated himself in the adjacent armchair.

"Look, I'm sorry about the other night, going off on you in the Hall like that," Harry muttered, his eyes focused on the fire in the grate. "I had a lot of things on my mind and no one else to talk to -"

"Don't worry about it," said Hermione. "We _all_ have things on our minds right now."

Harry nodded in agreement and waved his wand, summoning a cup of coffee over from the nearby refreshment table. He sipped his drink slowly, him and Hermione both staring into the orange flames in silence.

"So, happy that the term's finally over? No more classes till the New Year, I mean," Harry said suddenly with forced interest. Unlike Ron, Harry hardly ever appeared in the midst of Hermione's lessons... he claimed he didn't wish to "relive the terror of Hogwarts classrooms".

"What? Oh, yeah," Hermione muttered.

There was another moment's silence between the two, before Harry said with quite phony sympathy, "Bet you're looking forward to grading all that homework, eh? I saw the pile in your office; it's nearly a mile high."

"Mm hmm."

Harry turned in his chair to face Hermione. "Are you okay? You usually go on talking for hours when I mention the word _homework_."

"I'm fine," Hermione lied.

"What are you thinking about?"

Hermione hesitated; she wasn't sure whether or not she should discuss her thoughts with Harry. As much as he was her best friend, she knew that he could very well run and tell Ron, or Ginny, her confessions. Perhaps he would even think she was being ridiculous and childish, as she thought she was. But Hermione felt like her head was threatening to explode if she didn't pour out some of its contents to someone immediately. It was times like these that she desperately wished she owned a Pensieve.

"Ron," she muttered, feeling herself blush.

"Ah," was all Harry could utter as a wide smile spread across his mouth. "And what about him?"

"It's just -" Hermione sighed and threw her head back against her comfortable armchair. "I don't _understand_ him, Harry. You and I patched things up, right? Ron, on the other hand, refuses to even acknowledge the fact that I exist, but only when he feels like it. That day in the Forest, I almost felt like we might have been friends again. Apparently, he's decided against it."

"So, you're missing your friendship with him? Is that it?" Harry asked, still looking at Hermione with that utterly annoying smirk on his face. For an instant, Hermione had a knack to punch him, but reasoned that maybe it wasn't such a good idea. She nodded.

"It's stupid," she muttered, more to herself than Harry. "He's a grown man; we aren't little schoolchildren anymore. And he's still acting like he's about eleven."

"I can talk to him," Harry announced, standing up and pushing back his chair.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "You won't do anything of the sort, Harry! I don't want him to know I've been telling this to you!"

"Why?" Harry asked. With each word, his smile only grew, until it looked like it would snap his face in half. "I can be very persuasive. Talking to him might be a rather good idea, actually."

"Talking to who?"

Hermione and Harry swiveled around to find Ginny standing behind them with an innocent look of curiosity on her face. She looked from one to the other, smiling slightly. Hermione wondered how long she had been standing behind them... and how much she had heard.

"Nobody," the duo said simultaneously.

Hermione glanced down at her watch to avoid eye contact with Ginny and realized that if they spent any more time chatting, she and Harry would be late for their appointment with the Ministry. The last thing they needed was to show up late and look irresponsible, especially if the Ministry was about to fire them.

"Fine," Ginny said defiantly, looking just a bit hurt. "Hermione, I was wondering if you'd come to Hogsmeade with me this afternoon? I have a couple last-minute Christmas gifts to pick up and -"

"Sorry, Ginny," Hermione interrupted, rising from her chair and staring meaningfully at Harry. "Harry and I have to - er - go see Hagrid to help him... prepare his... Flobberworms for the winter. They'll die if they're exposed to the cold, you know."

"And nobody wants that," Harry contributed, in what he thought was a helpful tone.

"Right," Ginny said. From the look on her face, Hermione knew she didn't believe a word she had said. "I'll leave you to that. Give Hagrid my hello," she added bitterly before turning on her heel and marching across the room to the door. It shut with a sharp _snap_ behind her.

"Come on," Hermione said, pulling Harry to his feet. "You go get Ron and I'll inform McGonagall that we're leaving. If we arrive early, we'll give the Ministry a good impression, and perhaps we won't get sacked."

"I doubt it, though," Harry said with a frown.

Hermione silently agreed with him - she was honestly beginning to dread the Ministry meeting by now. More depressing thoughts kept escaping into her mind, twisting and forming into horrible scenarios. She couldn't bear to think again that she may have to leave Hogwarts for good... and then what would become of the school without her? Would more deaths occur, maybe even to people important to her?

For the first time in her life, Hermione had to admit to herself that, miraculously, she didn't know the answer.


	20. A Slanderous Meeting

**Author's Notes:** All right, I'm becoming more organized (for instance, I have the next chapter written out already!) because after looking over some of my previous chapters and the things I've screwed, I realized I am quite a sloppy author at times, if you can even call me that. So I've taken to writing down ideas for the chapters in a notebook, and I had about three more mini-stories to get through in chapter twenty, which, as you will soon find out, did not happen in the very least. The point of this paragraph is to say that I fear as if I'm dragging things out _too_ much (I mean, for God's sake, it's been Christmas for about the past year now) and I'll end up with far too many chapters. Perhaps I'll end up splitting this fic into two installments. I dunno. I just didn't want to rush things in the beginning, and now it seems as if I went a bit overboard, and now I can't rush things at the end. So we'll see what happens.

Anyway, see, I promised that I would quickly follow the last chapter with another one! I'm feeling much more dedicated to this story now and have time to do some writing before my summer gets genuinely busy – traveling, birthdays, Bible School teaching, reading for English class. Yes, can't _wait_ for that last one; honestly, why would any sensible English teacher assign their students to read _Great Expectations_ over the summer holidays? I know I shouldn't judge a book before I read it, but to me, it looks like five hundred pages of boredom. At least we only have to wait a month for the _Half-Blood Prince_!

I believe this chapter is a bit more interesting than the last one. And honestly, I had quite a lot of fun writing several parts. (Not to mention this chapter was about eleven pages on Word. One of my longest of the whole story, if not _the_ longest!) I realize that it's been December for a while now (meaning I've had the setting near Christmas for several past chapters) but I'm going to move the story on a bit more quickly now, so don't worry, we'll soon be getting to other holidays.

It has also come to my attention that I'm probably not getting many reviews because nobody remembers what's happened in this story. And yes, I too had to go back and re-read segments to remember things. If you would like a quick overview of what has been going on, just to freshen up without having to re-read the entire story, just tell me so and I can personally e-mail you a summary.

Sorry for the incredibly long Author's Notes. They're probably the reason there are so many pages on Word for this chapter. I promise shorter ones in the future.

And of course, thank you so much for all the reviews - I was afraid I'd come back and nobody would review anymore. It means the world to me and is what keeps me writing.

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**CHAPTER TWENTY: A SLANDEROUS MEETING**

Tall, foreboding, mahogany walls surrounded Hermione and Harry as they traveled down the corridor leading to the Ministry of Magic conference rooms. The time on Hermione's ticking watch was two minutes to twelve, which meant two minutes till the start of the doomed meeting where she was sure to be fired once and for all. The regal carpet and intricately-designed wall lamps would normally occupy any regular wizard's attention; after all, the Ministry of Magic was praised in many a magazine for its astounding interior. The two wizards in question, however, didn't care any more for the meaningless décor than they did for the frostbitten flobberworms back up at Hogwarts.

Hermione thought Harry vaguely mentioned something about having to travel down the very same hallway the day he was called in for the Auror meeting, but she was too busy having mild panic attacks to be truly interested. Harry had given her a pep talk on their journey to the school (she had refused to Apparate, claiming that she was too tense to concentrate and would probably end up in the middle of a troll's lair or something), brushing her up on what she was allowed to discuss and what would most likely be best "concealed", or, as Hermione liked to call it, "lied about". If there was one thing she could admit she did not succeed at, it was definitely lying. Hermione's parents raised her to always tell the truth, and when situations came up where she was forced to lie in order to help someone or something similar, she certainly failed miserably and almost always ended up disappointing someone on the other end.

"You okay?" Harry asked, glancing at her stark white face.

"No."

"Normally, I'd say something helpful," said Harry, "but seeing as we've just arrived at room 201, where McGonagall said we'd be expected at, there's really no point."

Looking up, Hermione realized he was right – they were standing outside a dark door with a brass plate hanging next to it bearing three faded numbers. She instinctively reached out to grasp the door handle, only to discover there _was_ no door handle, or key hole, or anything even remotely logical that would allow for their entrance. Perhaps they had the wrong room, Hermione thought. Perhaps they were on the wrong floor entirely. Perhaps the whole thing was just a joke, and instead, they could turn around and travel joyfully back up to the school where two warm cups of hot chocolate would be awaiting them in the staff room. She turned her head to look at Harry, expecting him to seem just as relieved, but Harry only wore an expression of intense anxiety on his face. The absence of a door handle hadn't fazed him at all.

The mysterious dungeon-like door abruptly began to creak open. Hermione held her breath and heard Harry inhale beside her; he stepped forward and, willing herself to be a strong, composed witch against whatever she was about to face, she quickly followed him into the dark room. The door closed behind them with a resounding _clang_, and just as Hermione's eyes began to adjust to the darkness, lights around the room were switched on, illuminating the unexpected and overwhelming scene before her.

She and Harry were standing at the front of a very spacious room obviously reserved for conferences, from the look of its interior. Lights lined the walls, shining down onto a polished, circular wooden table in the center, which was absolutely massive in size. Countless chairs surrounded the table, all facing one another, only to be occupied by an outstanding number of people. Hermione suddenly felt slightly awkward and self-conscious at the fact of so many eyes on her. She was accustomed to being at the head of a large classroom of students, but having people about twice her age with twice her knowledge glaring down upon her was something entirely different and much less comforting. And honestly, she really hadn't expected so many wizards to show up for this meeting.

Her eyes immediately connected with Ron's, who was sitting closest. A pale, sick countenance had replaced his usual cocky sneer. Hermione figured that Harry had asked Ron to come separately, for her benefit. She was momentarily grateful to Harry but decided she could spend time thanking him on much more cheerful occasion.

Seated next to Ron was Bella, looking not quite as nauseous as Hermione felt but considerably jumpy. Hermione wondered what she was doing at the meeting; Bella was in the dark about the facts Harry chose not to share with the public, so she could not possibly know of anything the Ministry didn't, such as the return of Lestrange. On the other side of Bella was Josie Hacklebush, who Hermione rarely had the pleasure of meeting with during the Hogwarts schooldays anymore. McGonagall was unable to make the meeting so she had, no doubt, sent Josie in her place (a rather stupid and pointless move on her part, Hermione thought). The frazzled witch was rocking back and forth in her chair, glancing into the faces of the people surrounding her every so often but carefully avoiding eye contact with each of them.

The only two Aurors other than Harry present in the room were Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody. Moody was whispering something to Tonks with a bowed head, as if attempting to conceal it from the others. It then hit Hermione that they were the allies in the meeting while everyone else, who Hermione had yet gotten to examining, was the enemy. Tonks and Moody were with them on this one; of course Harry had relayed all of their information, save for the Lestrange letter, to the Aurors, who were the only ones trustworthy inside the Ministry. It also hit her quite forcefully what exactly they were doing. Was she really going to get up in front of the most prominent people of the Ministry of Magic and _lie_? That was considered perjury… and, essentially, wizards were sent to Azkaban for perjury. She tried to comprehend this fact but its magnitude was just too much to bear. She honestly doubted she would be able to accomplish something like that easily.

There were three hooded figures next to Tonks and Moody not looking very keen to participate much in the meeting. Hermione remembered a story she once heard Harry telling about an encounter with these types of people and reasoned that these were Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries. Ron appeared to know these men, as they each gave him a nod and he returned them. Hermione quickly remembered Ron was the Head of the Department of Mysteries, after all, even though he didn't bear the title of "Unspeakable". To bring in Unspeakables was a difficult and rare task, only adding to the seriousness of whatever was about to be discussed. Hermione gulped. With each new face she took in, a deeper sense of misgiving descended upon her.

After the Unspeakables were a few more people Hermione barely remembered from her days at the Ministry. There was Joanne Kirk, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, who had sent her the lovely invitation to this meeting; the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, whose name escaped Hermione; the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot along with a severe-looking Elder (Hermione's nerves went on speed-drive at this surprise – she could very easily be convicted of perjury, tried, convicted, and shipped off to Azkaban all during the next ten minutes with such ominous members of the Wizengamot present, because why else would they have attended?); and several Ministry members Hermione had no recollection of that, with all the other significant wizards in the room, probably didn't have much importance at all.

But there were two more people seated at the table who made the situation all the more serious. These were two magnificent wizards Hermione feared, and she had never had any intentions whatsoever of lying to them. In fact, she would've rather wound up in the troll's lair than confront these men and commit perjury straight to their faces. Their presence at this meeting, which had quickly morphed into something far beyond what Hermione had imagined, laid it all out clearly for the whole room to see – what was about to be discussed was highly sincere, and nobody was to forget that.

First there was the Minister of Magic himself, Marshall Dempsey, seated in an impressive chair three feet higher than the rest. The respected man was one of the best British Ministers the country had seen in many years. Hermione had not seen much of him during her days spent in WIA Headquarters; he was known to keep to his office and work in solitude. The matters he attended to were surrounded by much secrecy and were also kept out of the public eye, but seeing Dempsey in the flesh alongside other such wizards was somewhat unusual. Hermione had never dreamed of ever coming in close contact with the man.

And finally, seated straight across the room from Hermione and staring at her with a look of something resembling disappointment – or could it be wrath? Either way, it was certainly dismaying – on his face was none other than her boss Duke Lawson. She didn't know what to make of his attendance; all she knew was that she was in serious trouble. Lawson would never be dragged from his work for something like this. She was now counting on getting fired from _two_ jobs, all in one day. That was quite a record, she had to admit.

Harry made a small choking noise beside her. Apparently, he was just as flabbergasted as she was.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Marshall Dempsey called out in an authoritative voice. "Thank you for joining us. If you'll kindly take your seats, we'll finally be able to get this meeting under way."

Hermione and Harry simultaneously sunk into two empty seats beside Ron. The Minister raised his hand and Joanne Kirk automatically took out a quill from her bag, along with a jar of ink and several long scrolls of parchment. She licked the tip of the quill, dipped it in the ink, smoothed out a parchment roll, and poised the quill just above the paper, looking to the Minister.

"On this day of the twentieth of December, everything discussed from this moment on will be officially noted by the Ministry of Magic," Dempsey announced to the awaiting table. The Undersecretary lowered her quill and began scribbling away on the parchment.

"Right. I am sure you are all aware of why this meeting has been called today," said Dempsey. "For the record, this meeting is being held to discuss the matters that have recently occurred at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now that the details have been taken care of, we'll get straight down to business. I do not intend to keep you all too long this afternoon, as I myself still have last-minute Christmas shopping to do."

There was a small chuckle that rippled around the table. It passed over Hermione, who was sitting as still as a stone statue, like a cold wave. She was getting annoyed by all the formality. If she was going to have to lie to the Ministry in order to cover up the happenings at Hogwarts connected to Bellatrix Lestrange, she wanted to get it over with before her nerves caused her a heart attack.

"We have been tipped off by an undisclosed source," Dempsey continued, "that the infamous Death Eaters have indeed returned."

"Who the hell…?" Harry whispered beside Hermione. No one else heard him, but Hermione was thinking the same thing.

"The Death Eaters, who disappeared shortly after the downfall of You-Kn – of Voldemort, as we all know, were recently spotted in Eastern Europe. It seems they have had a revelation and for reasons yet to be determined, have decided to appear back in public view."

"Upon further investigation," commented one of the wizards Hermione was unfamiliar with, "or, as I like to call it, during a raid of the Auror Headquarters, we discovered maps closely trailing the Death Eaters' path. Of course, the Ministry is _dumbfounded_ as to why the Aurors would attempt to hide something of such value." The man finished his brief report with a nasty smirk directed clearly at Mad-Eye Moody, who was staring back placidly while his magical eye whirled furiously in its socket.

Harry's hand began to clench and unclench on the table next to Hermione. There was a fire blazing in his eyes like she had never seen before. She herself was shocked to hear the Ministry was conducting raids on the Auror Headquarters; how much had they managed to uncover, exactly? And who was the cause of all this – who was the rat that tipped the Ministry off? Naturally, the Ministry was bound to become much more interested after the death of the girl in the Forest, but _someone_ had to have told them what they already knew.

"Thanks to these maps, which can now be found in possession of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the back of a vault nearly impossible to break into," continued another man with a sneer of pleasure on his face (it was obvious that the wizards were enjoying reprimanding the Aurors), "we learned that the Death Eaters are making a steady route westward. The members of this group in question are still unknown, as is their leader, but rest assured that his information won't go missing for long."

"In fact, it would save the Ministry quite a lot of time," remarked the first man, "if we just put together the missing pieces now. I must say that I believe you Aurors know more than you are letting on. Weasley, we'll try you, seeing as you're with the Department of Mysteries – you must have _some_ idea as to who's behind this Death Eater uprising."

Ron looked the man in the face with a steely glare and said aloud for the entire table to hear, "No, I don't."

"Interesting. Miss Granger," the man said, moving his gaze to Hermione. She gulped. She just couldn't do this. "You're a wise girl. You didn't win the Most Valuable Witch award three years in a row for nothing, now, did you? Tell us – who is it the Death Eaters are following?"

"I – I don't know, sir," Hermione said quietly.

"Is it one of their own? Or is it a Dark Lord from another country?"

"I – no, it's –"

"Could it be a follower of Voldemort risen from the past to finish his work, even?" the man asked, a maniacal glint now in his eyes.

"I _said_ I don't know," Hermione burst out a bit more roughly than she intended to. She was beginning to feel irked with all the questioning but, at the same time, was apprehensive she might let something slip. "Er, sir."

"Right. We'll see to that," said the wizard. He sat back in his chair and scribbled something on a small notebook in his lap, shooting suspicious glances at Hermione.

"During the said raid," continued on another man, apparently associated with the other two who had already spoken, "several valuable pieces of information were collected. However, various large chunks of information also appeared to be _missing_… or, at least, absent from the possession of the Auror Headquarters. It seems that something along the lines of, say, a _records book_," the annoyingly sly man emphasized, now staring directly into the face of an infuriated Harry, "was not present. You, Mr. Potter, wouldn't have any idea where to locate something of the sort, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"And remember, Mr. Potter," said the Chief Warlock in a booming tone, "lying in the presence of the Minister of Magic is considered perjury in our justice system. It would be such a shame to be convicted of something so unnecessary."

Hermione was beginning to feel legitimately frightened. This "meeting" was not at all what she had expected. Instead, it was turning into something dark and nasty. It appeared as if the whole room was out to get Hermione, Ron, and the Aurors, force them into committing some sort of crime in front of members of the Wizengamot, and then ship them off to Azkaban so they'd be out of the way. And truthfully, that seemed to be very close to what was happening. The Ministry members, including the Minister himself, seemed to think Hermione and the others were conducting an investigation of their own against the Ministry when their backs were turned – but in all actuality, that was precisely what was happening. The Aurors didn't want the Ministry to intervene in fear of the situation going public; they felt they had a better hold on matters when the Minister and his men weren't involved. And the more Hermione thought about it, the more she realized that they were actually forming an alliance _against_ the Ministry of Magic. She was vividly reminded of her fifth year at Hogwarts, a time when the Ministry was more foe than friend. How was it that her past was coming to repeat itself in different disguises? Any way she looked at it, she knew she and the others were in trouble… if raids were being conducted on the Auror Headquarters, then perhaps it was time to give everything up to the Ministry and let them solve it.

_But you've come too far for that now,_ said a voice in Hermione's head. _You can't let the others down. The Ministry may be experts in these situations, but you and the Aurors are the elite. Don't give it up_.

"You have no need to enlighten us on the matters of perjury, sir," Hermione said suddenly, astonishing herself. All heads turned towards her again, many wearing expressions of surprise. "We have not come here today with intentions of committing any crimes, if you will."

The Chief Warlock gazed back at Hermione with an unreadable countenance, but the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement only broke into a wide smirk. "In that case, Professor Granger," he said with far too much cheekiness, "would you care to tell us what your position actually _is _up at Hogwarts? Duke Lawson, Head of the WIA and also your boss, has informed us that you were sent to monitor the strange happenings of Hogwarts students and, ultimately, put your acclaimed Agent skills to good use and come up with an answer. So far, we have yet to see any progress. Actually, the students only seem to be getting worse. Tell us, _Professor_ – is it true? Are the house-elves _really_ putting something in the students' drinks?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to clench her teeth and glare at the disrespecting moron across the table laughing at his own joke. She was absolutely livid. The letter written to her had failed to mention that during the meeting, she and the others would receive criticism, be publicly made fools of in front of more than a dozen prominent members of the wizarding community, and have their authority questioned by blokes who could hardly call themselves wizards. She wondered if any of this was legal and how in the _world_ the Minister could actually sit through this with a mere grin on his face. Her opinion of the man had rapidly changed for the worse since the start of the meeting. And they all thought this was _funny_.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," the Minister said suddenly, breaking the tension that was amounting in the room. He had wiped the smile off his face and had taken to staring the three down quite seriously. "It has come to our attention that – er – you are not fully living up to your potential on your case at Hogwarts. We cannot put the students at risk or afford to lose any more lives in unfortunate accidents. Perhaps it would be best if you were removed from the school and replaced by wizards less distracted and more focused."

There was silence in the room. Hermione's worst fears were finally confirmed. She could very easily be a Divination teacher, she reasoned, with how well she had predicted that oncoming blow.

"Sir, if I may speak," said a voice a few seats down from Hermione. She craned her neck forward to see Bella, who had remained quiet up until now, staring meaningfully at the Minister.

"Of course. Seeing as you are Junior Head of the Wizengamot, I would be delighted."

_I knew she was involved in the Wizengamot!_ Hermione thought triumphantly. _That explains what she's doing here._

"Thank you. In my opinion, it would be a very foolish mistake to remove Potter, Weasley, and Granger from the case," Bella said smoothly. "If you do recall, it was I who supported Minerva McGonagall in their recommendation. I cannot think of any three wizards more qualified for this job. And if you were present at Hogwarts as I am, you would find the mission to solve this case a very trying one. With anyone less skilled on the job, the entire school would be behaving like a zoo in no time, if you understand what I'm saying."

Another silence followed Bella's speech. Hermione's head was whirling; there just may be a chance that she'd get to keep her job. She had never appreciated Bella much before, but now, she felt a warm wave of affection towards her co-worker. She made a mental note to pick up a very nice Christmas gift for her before the holidays.

"Well." The Minister of Magic was clearly at a loss for words. "Miss Levrero, I – I take your advice to heart, I really do. I just don't know if, this time, it would be wise to listen to such –"

"I agree," Tonks spoke up. "That woman's right. I've known those three since their school days and there is _nobody else_ you'd want for this job."

"Only an idiot would replace Potter, Weasley, and Granger," Moody added in a snarl. "You wouldn't want the public to think of you as such, would you, now, Marshall?"

"I – I, well, of course not, Alastor, but –" Dempsey was beginning to stutter and chuckle. All eyes were on him, some warning him not to make a stupid decision, others begging him to declare the meeting adjourned (Hermione among these few). Finally, Marshall Dempsey smoothed down his robes calmly and narrowed his eyes at the trio.

"Fine. It seems as if I am being overruled here. And I do know it is wise to heed Miss Levrero's counsel. You three won't be fired, today, at least. But just know that the Ministry is _not impressed_ with your work at the school. I believe it is safe in saying that this will be all over tomorrow morning's issue of the _Daily Prophet_, so in about twenty hours' time, our inboxes will be flooded with outraged letters from the community concerning the return of the Death Eaters. It will now be known publicly how much danger we are all essentially in. What I'm saying is, this case at the school is becoming very tedious and it _will_be wrapped up soon, understand? We will be focusing all our strength on the upcoming challenges dealing with the news of the Death Eaters and I do not need to be worrying about some mentally ill adolescents."

Hermione, Harry, and Ron all nodded, very much relieved to still be clinging onto their jobs with the case.

"But there is one thing you must remember," Dempsey said in a threatening voice. "You _will not_ interfere with this, agreed? I'm talking about the Death Eaters. It is not your concern so you will see to it that you stay out of it. Am I clear?"

The trio nodded again.

"Right. I believe it is a good idea to have Ministry officials check in on the status of Hogwarts often, don't you think?" the Minister asked, looking to the Chief Warlock, who nodded his head furiously. "Then it's settled. We'll have daily reports coming back to us from the officials we send up to the school. Oh, and one last thing before this meeting is officially finished," he added as an after-thought, looking towards Moody again. "No more of this secret information being kept from the Ministry, understood? I very rarely conduct raids on our own Auror Headquarters, as it is a nasty business, and never hope to do so again. The items we confiscated will remain under our watch until further notice. Wouldn't want anything to happen to _your_ job either, Alastor."

"Too right," Moody muttered.

"I believe that's everything!" said Dempsey, as if the past hour had been spent playing a pleasant game of chess, not rebuking the trio and the Aurors into blazing fury. "This meeting is now adjourned! Hope you all have a wonderful holiday, and perhaps we'll have another one of these nice little meetings sometime soon…"

"Don't bet your life on it, mate," Ron said under his breath as he, Harry, and Hermione quickly got up from their seats and exited the room, soon to be followed by the other members of the meeting. On their way out, Hermione caught the gaze of her Duke Lawson, who was giving her a perceptive look of discontent; her heart sank. She had never once before disappointed her boss so.

In the corridor outside the conference room, Tonks and Moody met up with the trio as everyone else shuffled past, jostling them slightly. Moody was muttering furiously under his breath with Tonks, whose hair had been a sweet shade of blue at the beginning of the meeting but was now a violent purple to match the color in her cheeks, behind him.

"Bloody bastards," Moody said once the five had formed a tight circle some five feet down from the door. "Raiding Headquarters. Wish you would've been there, Potter. I'd like to have seen you trying to blast them right up the –"

"We can't talk about this now," Tonks whispered, looking over her shoulder. "There's no place safe enough in the Ministry, either. Listen, Harry," she said seriously. "We'll come up on Christmas after the feast, all right? I reckon not too many students will be round for the holidays this year, and there aren't any bloody Ministry officials around to _raid our offices_. Damn them. I'll Owl you the time we'll arrive, so don't make any plans."

Harry, still speechless from the lengthy meeting, nodded.

The two Aurors disappeared down the corridor with the rest of the members of the meeting, leaving Hermione, Harry, and Ron alone outside room 201. All three of them looked from one to the other, all unable to form any words to meet their shock and rage. Instead, they slowly followed Tonks and Moody to the end of the corridor where, from there, they made their way home back to Hogwarts, as thankful as ever to be able to depart still holding onto their jobs.

* * *

"You've got to be _kidding_." 

An astounded Ginny Weasley was staring back at Hermione with her mouth hanging open and her eyes alight. The two were sitting at a disorganized table in the back of the Hogwarts library, their heads bowed in conversation. Hermione had returned to the school not long ago and learned of her friend's whereabouts; she traveled to the library to find Ginny hunched over the little table, feverishly scribbling on paper after paper, muttering to herself about ridiculous second-years. When asked, she said that she had taken refuge in the library because Braedon Keleher, the obnoxiously handsome flying teacher, was parading around the staff room in a Father Christmas outfit, passing out butterbeer and singing carols at the top of his lungs. "These compositions aren't going to grade themselves," she had said shrewdly.

"No, I'm absolutely serious."

"They actually _raided_ the Auror Headquarters?" Ginny asked, aghast.

Hermione nodded.

"But they can't do that!" Ginny shouted. Hermione shushed her and told her to keep her voice down. "Sorry. How is that legal, though? It _can't_ be. And now the Ministry's confiscated everything valuable and they don't seem very keen on letting the Aurors use it?"

"Right."

Ginny let out a groan of exasperation. "This is mad, Hermione! You don't just wake up one morning and decide to raid the Aurors into insanity."

"Well, they were keeping information from the Ministry," Hermione said sensibly. "But you're right about that. Someone had to have tipped them off about the information they were hiding. The Ministry doesn't like to be kept in the dark about things going on within their own walls, you know. Dempsey seems to be the type of man who needs to be in control of _everything_ all the time. Before the raid, the Ministry only knew a small portion of the whole situation, and now they know almost all of it."

"What else is there to it?"

"Erm – nothing, really," Hermione said quickly. She had almost forgotten who she was talking to. Ginny knew nothing of the missing records book, the letter, or even Bellatrix Lestrange, and she had strict orders not to tell her. As trustworthy as she knew Ginny was, there were always ways for information to leak out and others to overhear. "Just a few things Harry mentioned. I don't know much, really, I suppose it's a couple of details they didn't bother telling the Ministry. But in the end, we're still in the same amount of trouble. You know, the Ministry's going to be sending people up to check on the school?"

"No," Ginny gasped. "They don't think you're competent?"

"Not at all," said Hermione. "I think the first official is to arrive this evening, or in the morning, I'm not sure. So now it feels as if we'll have people watching our every move."

"Spying on us."

"Exactly."

Ginny sighed again. "Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione," she began hesitantly, "but we _really_ need to find out what's happening here. I'm scared for everyone's safety. Just – just do your best, okay? You and Harry and Ron."

Hermione nodded. Ginny was right… time seemed to be running out. Who knew where Lestrange was now? She could be behind the bookcase on Hermione's left for all they knew. And solving the case at Hogwarts meant solving the case of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Death Eaters, because even if the Minister and his men didn't know it, Bellatrix was most certainly connected with the strange occurrences.

And the Minister was wrong if he thought the trio was going to stay out of the Death Eaters business, because anyone who knew Harry, Ron, and Hermione also knew that it was impossible for them disregard such mortal affairs.

Two evenings later, Hermione threw open the front doors to Hogwarts, clutching her wool cloak close to her body and trying to push the doors shut while the wind forcefully worked against her. The great wooden doors finally closed with a resonating _boom_, shutting out the intense snowstorm raging across the Hogwarts lawns. Hermione shivered and shook her head, watching the snow fall out of her hair and onto the floor, melting into the marble. Her boots were soaked, as were her robes all the way up to her knees; as she walked along, her shoes made a squelching noise, leaving behind quite snowy footprints.

She had just been down to visit Hagrid, as she hadn't seen him in quite some time. Harry had gone with her, but Hermione was desperate to finish grading the sixth-years' essays before Christmas, resulting in her early departure. Honestly, she was grateful to get away from Hagrid's rock-solid "cakes", or as she liked to call them, "miniature boulders". She had apologized to Hagrid for not taking to heart what he had said about the Death Eaters and Lestrange on her first visit to his cabin, but he didn't seem to mind. Since Hagrid was an old friend and, more importantly, a respected and valued member of the Order, Hermione and Harry felt it was safe to give him a report of the Ministry meeting. He was just as flabbergasted as Ginny had been, and if he had been there, Hermione had a notion none of the Ministry officials would've walked out on two stable legs.

The castle was eerily quiet; nearly all students save for a handful of unfortunate ones had traveled home for the winter holidays. Needless to say, none of the students had any inclination at all to stay at the school, nor did their parents want them to – they all feared for the safety of their children. Hermione wouldn't be surprised is several parents decided to keep their children home for the remainder of the school year.

She momentarily wondered where she had left her stack of papers when Harry had dragged her off to Hagrid's… it came back to her that they were last seen mounted high on a desk in the middle of the staff room. She began to head in that direction, slightly agitated at the prospect of probably having to grade well into the night again, but halted suddenly when voices began to drift in her direction.

"Are you _really_ a nationally famous… what did you call it?"

"No, _inter_nationally famous Agent for the WIA. I'm quite esteemed, actually."

The two voices seemed to be coming from the end of the hallway near a tapestry. Hermione slinked along the corridor until she reached the other side, just feet away from the voices, but was still unable to see their speakers. An ancient but massive statue nearby caught her attention and she dashed behind it, finding she was in perfect view of the people speaking. They were not, however, people she had expected to find in the very least – or wanted to find at _all_, for that matter.

"Ahh, I zee. Does zat mean you have caught many bad wizards?"

"Oh, _loads_. You wouldn't believe the outrageous numbers. Some of them even escape after they've been caught, and then we have to go capture them _again_… so much bloody work, you know."

A tall and slender witch with remarkably perfect blonde hair and stunning magenta robes was leaning against the wall, a smirk playing across her doll-like face. Ron was standing beside her, a strange look present in his eyes, as he spewed out exaggeration after exaggeration to the striking blonde. Hermione was positively appalled; not only was this another _female_, she knew this to be the most recent Ministry official that Dempsey had sent up to the school for reports. The witch had been hanging around for the past two days, walking around with a quill and small notebook in hand, stopping to stare at random blank walls or dull portraits, only to walk away scribbling. Hermione and Ginny had both suspected she had no clue what she was doing and was obviously writing pointless comments, such as, "Highly suspicious painting on fourth floor – occupant takes to shouting out rude comments to passerby. Report will be filed for confiscation of painting obviously containing dark magic."

"You must be very brave," said the witch, twirling her wand in her hands, "going up against all zese dangerous zings. Per'aps you can spend more time later telling _moi_ zese fascinating stories?"

Ron looked like he was about to melt right there on the spot.

Hermione felt a sudden wave of fury – and, could it be, jealousy? – come upon her. Just what exactly did Ron think he was _doing_? This was practically fraternizing with the enemy; he could be spilling out all of their secrets about the whole case to this woman from the Ministry just because she had nice hair. And, was it possible that he was trying to seduce her? Or maybe it was the other way around. The brainless witch seemed –

Then it hit Hermione. The flawless face, the perfect blonde hair, and the accent, which Hermione finally realized to be French, could only mean one thing. This woman was definitely part Veela. That explained why Ron was putty in her hands, clinging on to her every word and boasting about ridiculous things – honestly, _him_, a WIA agent? – as men often did when in the presence of Veela. That genuinely sent Hermione over the edge. _Shows how shallow men really are_, she thought bitterly.

The couple continued talking but Hermione had tuned them out and, seconds later, the Veela-witch departed down the corridor in Hermione's direction as Ron sauntered off the opposite way. There was a certain way about his swagger that made Hermione think Ron was very pleased with himself. She had an urge to whip out her wand and curse him from halfway down the hall but stopped herself. It could wait for another time.

Hermione waited till the witch was a good distance away before getting to her feet, only to smash her head into a suspended part of the statue. She heard the stone crack and swayed for a moment on the spot, the corridor coming in and out of focus rapidly. She silently cursed herself for being so clumsy and when her eyes readjusted, standing in front of her was the blonde Veela-witch, a look of amusement on her face.

"Didn't see that," Hermione mumbled, rubbing the top of her head where a very large bump had now formed. The witch only stared back, a ghost of a smirk on her lips and a snicker rising in her throat.

"So, er, from the Ministry, are you?" said Hermione, now suddenly aware of how awkward and embarrassed she felt. Really, she had no intention to stay and chat with the annoying woman, and decided she could either smooth it all over with a polite comment or two, or dash down the hall, never to look back. She knew the second choice would perceive her as an idiot, so she went with the first.

The witch nodded again, her immaculate blonde hair reflecting the candlelight of the hall.

Hermione was just about to turn her back and quickly return to the staff room, giving some sort of improvised excuse, because it was quite apparent between the two that Hermione had been listening on the encounter between the woman and Ron, when she spoke, a much more visible smirk now on her lips. It was obvious she wasn't attempting to hide it from Hermione.

"Impressive job, Agent for ze Ministry," she said. "One woman would be lucky to 'ave a man with such skills, no?"

"Er – yeah, sure?"

"I cannot say zat I myself possess such skills. Not many wizards do. 'ow often does one come across an _esteemed_ man with, how do you say, such _expertise_?"

Hermione wasn't sure where the woman was going with this pointless conversation, so she spoke up, voicing an opinion that was sure to knock this pretty half-Veela. "Looks and skills aren't everything," she said matter-of-factly. "When it comes to men, as _most_ women know, their occupation isn't what matters; it's the attraction between the two."

"I thought zat you were a Transformation _professeur,_ not one of philosophy."

"It's Transfiguration."

"What I am merely trying to say 'ere is zat it must hurt knowing the man you want doesn't want you back," said the witch, whose face was now displaying a fully sarcastic grin. "But you must learn not to take zat so personally, _oui_? After all, you are but a mere Transformation _professeur_ while uzzers are out saving ze world with zer skills. I 'ave heard from _certain_ men zat being an Agent ees much hard work – but, zen again, you wouldn't know much about _zat_ type of work, would you?"

The Veela-witch flashed one last sneer at Hermione before turning her back and strolling down the corridor, twirling her wand between her fingers again. Hermione had half a notion to shout after her, "I _think_ I know more about being an Agent than you're leading yourself to believe, you half-wit!" But instead she too left the statue in the hallway and headed for her original destination, the staff room, only this time, attempting to blink away the warm tears in her eyes. She wasn't going to let some _Witch Weekly_ poster girl tell her about men and the kind she, a _mere professor_, deserved. _Oh, if only she knew_, Hermione thought. _If only she knew that I myself know the very spell to fry that bloody wig on top of her head. _Agent training definitely came with some side bonuses Hermione figured she would never find the opportunities to use.

And then there was Ron, drooling at the feet of this faux beauty, possibly using Hermione's own experiences as a member of the WIA – honestly, couldn't he be a bit more original? – to attract the woman to him. "Pathetic," Hermione spat aloud, pushing aside the thought that it mostly wasn't Ron's fault as the woman _was_ part Veela. That was no excuse.

Hermione finally reached the staff room and swung open the door to find it bustling with activity. All of Hogwarts' professors seemed to be milling around the room before dinner hour. Ron, thankfully, was no where in sight, so Hermione rushed towards her favorite armchair and sunk into it, only to find that Harry was seated in the adjacent one.

"Did you get lost or something on the way back up here?" he asked. "You left Hagrid's before me and arrived here after."

Hermione, slightly thankful at having someone nearby to spill her thoughts to, explained to Harry what she encountered in the corridor. She fought back tears when retelling the part of the awful half-Veela dishing out criticism, and when she finished, she felt considerably better, like a bad secret had been lifted off her chest.

Harry listened without commenting and when Hermione wrapped up her short story, he remained silent for several long seconds. Hermione was beginning to think that perhaps he hadn't been listening at all when he said, "You know what, Hermione? You need to go out and have some fun. No, I'm not talking about shopping at the bookstore, that doesn't exactly qualify as _real_ fun. Tomorrow night, Christmas Eve, I think I have just the thing in mind."

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**Author's Notes:** Yes, these again. Sorry, but I must say that I am genuinely beginning to feel pissed off. First, this stupid website won't accept my A/N breaks (resulting in the now dashed lines as you see above) and now I can't add in asterisks in the middle of the story! I had to replace them with a _ruler,_ which I am not too fond of. Is anyone else having this problem? Is there a way to _rectify_ this problem? Because if so, I would truly like to be let in on it. I'm afraid I'll end up letting out my frustration on something unfortunate, say, my computer screen, any minute now.


	21. The Rogue Chimaera

**Author's Notes:** In all honestly, this chapter was just _fun_ to write. At first I was struggling because I didn't know how to end chapter twenty, and when this idea popped into my head I seized it and squeezed it for all it was worth. And though Hermione's, er, behavior may seem a bit OOC, I think there is a perfectly good excuse for it, as you will notice for yourself.

Just the other day, I sadly realized that in a month, this story will actually be AU - in other words, null and void. As overjoyed as I am at the fact that soon another year of Harry's life (real Harry, not fake-Harry-who-is-probably-terribly-OOC in this fic) will be in my hands and I will no longer be forced to re-read Order of the Phoenix to satisfy my hunger, I am still majorly bummed. I doubt I will be able to finish BCD before July 16th, and then there will be no point for any of you to continue to read this because Hermione'll probably be killed off or Jo will do away with Auror headquarters, both of which will completely nullify this story. Anyway, if, by some miracle, I do happen to finish BCD, then there's no problem...if not, then I do hope you'll all come back and finish reading this, only to pretend Hermione _hasn't_ died and Aurors _do_ still exist.

And I thought this would be an appropriate time to answer questions I've recently received in reviews, seeing as the next chapter is unbelievably long and I probably will do away with Author's Notes altogether. No, I most likely won't, because I absolutely love writing them, but what I'm saying is I won't have any room for answers then. So here you go!

**Flower of Scotland:** You didn't ask me anything, but thank you for the kind words of encouragement back in chapter nineteen. They were greatly appreciated!

**jamc91:** It's Hermione/Ron, or at least, is going to be. Eventually, I promise. I'm getting there.

**crystalshine:** Sorry, no Harry/Ginny. Ginny doesn't develop any romantic interests, but who knows about Harry?

**Liles in the pond of Doom:** Thanks so much to both of you for reviewing my story and getting me hooked on yours (which, as you know, I'm very interested in)! And also, thank you for tipping me off about the Africa thing... yes, I know it's a continent and not a country, I didn't _completely_ fail eighth grade social studies. I'll fix it, someday. And no, Bella is not Bellatrix.

**silentmaniac:** You too didn't ask me any questions, but you reviewed every single chapter and for that I must salute you.

**Someone who asked me what my title meant:** Sorry, I don't remember who asked, but I do remember the question. I named it "Behind Closed Doors" appropriately, and if you haven't realized it by now, then I'll explain it at the end of the story.

**The numerous people who commented on my horrid flashback brackets:** Er, yes, I had to address this. I apologize for those; I look back and realize how ugly and haunting they are and have every intention to DELETE THEM as soon as I have the chance. So, just never mind them. Thank you.

And, as always... review!

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**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE ROGUE CHIMAERA**

The clock in the Entrance Hall began to chime, signaling the beginning of a new hour. A brown-haired professor stood beneath the large clock, her eyes fixed upon the staircase just ahead of her. She was bouncing from one foot to the other, glancing around as if expecting someone else to be in the Hall with her, though it was obvious she was alone. For the first time in days, there was no uproar to be heard on the other side of the stone walls; it seemed as if the winter weather, which had been uncharacteristically ferocious as of late, had decided to take a break for the holidays. The witch in the Hall was thankful for that, for in a few moments' time (hopefully, assuming the person she was waiting for showed up when he was supposed to) she suspected she would be traveling across the snowy grounds of Hogwarts, and she honestly had no interest in doing so amongst extremely high winds.

When the seventh and final chime rung about the Hall, the witch straightened, for a person had appeared on the staircase she had so earnestly been watching for the past ten minutes. A man decked out in winter garments with a mop of messy black hair descended towards the woman, who now wore an expression of extreme annoyance. The man's face broke into a grin as his boots smacked against the shining marble floor, making for the only sound in the large foyer, as the chimes from the clock had died out several seconds before. He came to a halt facing the stern professor, now grinning even wider. Finally, the woman opened her mouth to speak.

"You're late, Harry Potter, for this so very secret night of _fun_ you have planned."

"Couldn't find my scarf, if you will," replied Harry, still smiling. "You know the dangers of the cold; I could come down with something as serious as the _flu_. Then what would happen to our night of fun?"

"Stop smirking," Hermione snapped, folding her arms and glaring. "Let's get whatever this is supposed to be over with so I can finish my grading. And perhaps on our way back, we could make a little stop at the –"

"No. No bookstore," Harry cut her off. "That's one bad habit I intend to break you of."

Hermione growled and turned around to throw open the front doors. The brilliance from the white exterior was nearly blinding; but within moments, the two people had disappeared from the school, leaving the Entrance Hall looking quite empty and forlorn once more.

* * *

Hogsmeade, in Hermione's opinion, looked positively stunning. She had always enjoyed the wizarding village most during the Christmas holidays as a child at Hogwarts. The entire scene – snow fluttering from the sky, the tops of the houses covered in layers upon layers of glistening white sheets, decorations present in every shop – reminded her of her own childhood, when her parents would take her into Muggle towns for shopping. She had always thought the crooked little road looked a bit like something one would find on a holiday card, save for the vampires, hags, broomsticks, and other various magical articles present. Merry voices rung out down the road, celebrating the eve of Christmas, while people could be seen running hurriedly from store to store stocking up on last-minute gifts. Obviously, as nearly the whole student body was home for the holidays, the visitors of Hogsmeade weren't, to Hermione's great relief, energetic adolescents on a fervent sugar high. 

The hour was late and the sun was nearly wholly concealed behind the hills in the distance. The twinkling lights strung around the tops of the shops (which, Hermione knew, were tiny little fairies compacted together) provided a suitable amount of light for the late-evening shoppers. Hermione quite liked Hogsmeade this way.

"Harry, would you mind telling me where exactly we're headed?" she pleaded to her friend for the fifth time. Harry, who had long ago given up attempting to answer her, only shook his head.

They continued to travel down the teeming street, Hermione still utterly confused as to where Harry was taking her. She wondered what had brought on this sudden wave of spontaneity over her friend, who was usually opposite the "going out at night" type. From what Hermione knew, Harry was often too busy researching for Auror things she wasn't informed about, owling important people, or brooding in his room to socialize.

Harry finally came to a stop at the end of the road in front of a shabby-looking brick wall bearing only one despondent door. Hermione wondered why she hadn't noticed this before, but as it was awfully simple and grungy, she wasn't surprised. Harry stood staring at the wall for a moment, perhaps wondering if they had arrived at the right place, before taking out his wand and glancing behind him. Most of the shoppers weren't at this end of the road and those that were close enough weren't paying attention to the odd couple in front of the brick wall. Hermione was completely baffled and began wondering for a fleeting moment if Harry had possibly gone mad, until he commenced in tapping the wall, muttering. Her worst suspicions were then confirmed.

But to her surprise, the dilapidated door opened, and Harry drew back, stuffing his wand back into his pocket. "Thought this was the right place!" he told Hermione enthusiastically. "Wasn't sure for a moment, though. I heard about this from a rather, er, extroverted old friend from the Ministry. Never thought I'd end up finding myself here."

Now the door was wide open and Harry ducked in, beckoning for Hermione to follow. They entered a narrow and dim passageway totally devoid of candles which, Hermione thought, was rather skeptical.

"What is this?" she demanded, tugging on Harry's sleeve. "Harry, how do you know we haven't just walked into the lair of a vampire or something? This is oddly suspicious."

"Relax," Harry commanded her. "Look, you've seemed really tense lately," he added, still stumbling through the constricted corridor. "Between teaching and the Death Eaters and Lestrange, I know you haven't had any time to enjoy yourself."

"I don't _need_ any time to enjoy myself," Hermione countered.

"It's Christmas Eve," said Harry, continuing on as if he hadn't heard Hermione's protest. "You can't sit up at the castle and _grade papers_, for Christ's sake. So as a friend, I took it upon myself to bring you here."

They had arrived at the end of the hallway where yet another worn door faced them. Harry gave it a push and it opened; he stepped forward across the threshold and Hermione followed. When she saw the room beyond, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in both disbelief and amazement.

"Harry – you brought me to a _nightclub_?"

Harry turned to Hermione and grinned amiably. "The Rogue Chimaera," he commented, having to raise his voice against the vociferous noise of the room. "Best bloody club around, I've heard. You'll enjoy yourself here, trust me."

"I think I'll be lucky if I don't get _mauled_ by a chimaera."

The room was large and circular and contrasted greatly with the place's exterior; Hermione had expected to be led into a room as equally shabby as the corridor outside. Instead, the Rogue Chimaera appeared to be a rather trendy and attractive place, packed with a vast crowd of wizarding folk. There was a band playing on the elevated stage (more fairy lights surrounded the wild-looking players, illuminating them in a different glow from the rest of the room), providing the club with quite catchy music, Hermione had to admit. One entire side of the room was devoted to a bar, where countless creatures of all shapes and sizes sat gulping down glasses and engaging in strident conversation. Behind the bar was a large beast that greatly resembled an octopus, its many arms and legs holding drinks and passing them out to shouting customers at a remarkable pace. Another corner of the room housed rather enticing armchairs and sofas, all of them filled with joyous, laughing people very much in the holiday spirit.

On the ceiling in the center of the room was a glass box containing, Hermione noticed in slight agitation, an extremely large fairy. It fluttered around the box, its magnificent wings changing from green to gold to red every few seconds, casting a colored glow about the room. Floating lamps were scattered in a pattern throughout the air, on the whole granting the club with some very nice lighting. The final thing Hermione noticed was the faux snow – or perhaps it was real? This being a wizarding club, it could very well be enchanted and most likely was – falling from the top of the room, setting the place in a holiday mood. However, the snow seemed to disappear just before reaching the heads of the guests. Hermione was greatly reminded of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall.

And, of course, there was a dance floor, which occupied nearly two quarters of the room. The song was upbeat and lively to match the dancing of the club's visitors. There was one hooded figure Hermione greatly suspected to be a hag doing some sort of strange dance alongside a short goblin about a fourth of her size. Another couple, looking to be an ordinary witch and wizard, were doing acrobatic flips through the air, despite many yells from the below crowd. On the other side of the dance floor was a group of leprechauns clearly doing a sort of Irish jig quite off-key with the music. Hermione's stomach lurched. She was a horrible dancer.

"Harry, I can't do this!" she yelled.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've never _been_ to a club before!" Hermione said. The band finished their upbeat song to many wild cheers and applause and, seconds later, began playing through another, even crazier than the first. "I – I can't dance!"

"Sure you can!" said Harry, still grinning. He appeared to be enjoying the club and, probably, enjoying Hermione's reaction to it. "I saw you dance at the Yule Ball in fourth year, remember? I've seen worse."

Hermione gulped. She hadn't expected Harry to bring her here. She just didn't _fit in_ at clubs and she hardly ever went to parties (usually only black-robe ones for work). Yes, work was her thing, and though it often restricted her from having many friends, she hadn't ever minded – until now. She just never viewed herself as much of a socialite type because really, she wasn't. During all those years traveling the globe, being the hero she never had to chance to be during her schooldays, Hermione never had the time to settle down and take pleasure in entertainment.

"Hermione," Harry said seriously, whipping around to face her and lowering his voice. "Look, I know that Ron can be a bit of a git sometimes, right? Don't let him get you down. I thought bringing you here might get your mind off things, and mine too," he added as an afterthought. "It's the holidays, after all."

"Well," Hermione began, moving her eyes across the room once more and taking in the overwhelming surroundings. "I suppose I could give this a try. I appreciate the thought, anyway, Harry."

"Great," Harry said, looking genuinely pleased. "I'll go get ourselves a couple of drinks… I dunno about you, but I'm parched."

"No, I'll go," Hermione said bravely. Harry looked slightly amazed. She felt like quite a prat; Harry was only trying to improve her spirits and though he oftentimes lacked good judgment, his heart was in the right place. She wanted to make an impression that she was grateful for his generosity and, more importantly, could handle herself in the middle of a nightclub. _Drinks. Right. Not so hard,_ she thought.

"If you insist. Bring me back, erm, just a Butterbeer, please."

Hermione nodded and within moments was making her way across the room to the bar. Several people she expected to be more than a little inebriated jostled her along the way, raving on like absolute lunatics. The composed witch ignored them and finally reached the long, chrome table, claiming a seat and stuffing herself into it. A hooded figure was seated next to her, its face completely masked by darkness. It turned its head towards Hermione (or, at least, what she presumed to be its head) and grunted before looking the other way and gulping down the rest of its fizzy drink.

A witch suddenly popped out of thin air on the other side of the bar, startling Hermione. She was dressed in something Hermione never would have dreamed of squeezing herself into, her long blonde hair flowing down her back. The men alongside the bar began hooting raucously, their mouths open and drool forming on their lips. Hermione inwardly groaned. _Another half-Veela_, she thought bitterly.

The witch advanced towards Hermione, her eyes sparkling, but upon noticing she was indeed a female and not a male, the half-Veela's smile disappeared only to be replaced by a quite unbecoming scowl.

"What'll you have?" she asked Hermione in a tone that suggested she clearly had better things to do than serve an out-of-place Hogwarts professor.

"Erm, a Butterbeer, and -"

"The mulled mead is _brilliant_ at this time of year," remarked a squat goblin on the other side of Hermione, pointing to his own tankard that was larger than his head. "I'm on my fourth by now." He let out a small hiccup and giggled.

"No, no, elderflower wine is positively the best," countered an aged witch from two seats down with vivid purple hair. "You don't want to go with anything else, dear."

"Red currant rum!" exclaimed a voice behind Hermione. She whipped around in her seat to find what was clearly a vampire standing behind her, his face broken into a grin, revealing his fanged teeth. "It's an excellent substitute for blood, you know."

"We aren't all vampires here, Vern," remarked the witch behind the counter. She was glaring at Hermione, becoming more impatient by the minute. "Do you want a drink or not?" she asked Hermione cynically.

"Yes, I'll have, er –"

"If you don't go with the mulled mead, you won't know what you're missing!" squealed the miniature goblin, accidentally knocking over the remainder of drink to the female bartender's annoyance.

"We're running a special on sherry, would you just like a glass of that?" she suggested irritably.

"Yes, sure," Hermione said quickly, wanting more than anything to simply escape from the creepy bar guests. She had never even heard of half the drinks on the menu above the bar, as alcoholic drinks were not amongst her favorites, and would take whatever; she honestly didn't mind and probably wouldn't drink it anyway.

Hermione paid the bartender, who stuffed the coins down her shirt and moved towards a warlock with a peculiarly pointed hat, and ambled across the room to where Harry was standing, watching the entertaining band with interest. She handed him his warm Butterbeer and exchanged a quick "Cheers" before he raised his mug to his lips. Feeling quite stupid watching him, she did the same with her glass and, momentarily forgetting what she had ordered, began to down the cup. The drink trickled down her throat, a strangely sweet yet nutty tang engulfing her mouth. Hermione let the taste linger for a few seconds, enjoying its flavor, before finishing off the glass in a final gulp. It actually wasn't bad, she reasoned. In fact, she liked it quite a lot. It was better than pumpkin juice or Butterbeer at any rate; why hadn't she discovered this mysterious drink before?

"What's that you had?" Harry asked, pointing to her empty cup.

"Mmm, I don't remember," Hermione answered unconsciously. "It was awfully good, though."

Harry chuckled and took another swig of his frothing Butterbeer. "Want to go get a seat? We can't stand around here all night, unless you want to dance, of course," he added, stifling an obvious smirk.

Hermione pretended not to notice Harry's amusement and agreed. He led her across the room, carefully avoiding the crazed dancing of some of the clubbers while exchanging hellos to random people nearly falling over themselves along the way. Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at the appearance of some of the dancers; she had no idea the wizarding world had such a nightlife, and a wild one at that. Still, she was trying to get used to this interesting place, wondering if perhaps she might have an enjoyable night after all, even though the bookstore would have been perfectly acceptable, too. She couldn't let Harry know that, of course; somehow, she was going to have to convince him she was having the time of her life.

They arrived at a pair of chubby round chairs, looking ideal for relaxation. Harry sunk into one, letting out a sigh of comfort, and Hermione followed suit. They gazed out across the dance floor, grinning at the antics of several enthusiastic characters, especially the group of leprechauns in the corner who now, to Hermione's utter hilarity, were forming a sort of pyramid. Hermione realized it was in the shape of a Christmas tree, obviously to symbolize the holiday spirit, and was amazed when the leprechauns began singing harsh carols at a pitch to deafen the room. Obviously, singing was not a talent among leprechauns. Within moments, a bossy-looking wizard had appeared alongside the pyramid, shaking his fist at the drunken creatures and shouting something about public indecency. The pyramid quickly dissolved as the thwarted leprechauns scattered, a bolder one bellowing at the retreating back of the wizard, and from the looks of his gesturing, Hermione could only guess what he was raving on about.

"Enjoying yourself yet?" Harry leaned over and asked.

"Maybe," Hermione replied, still engrossed by the lone shouting leprechaun who was now being forcefully escorted off the dance floor by two broad men. "This place is fascinating, Harry. How did you find out about it?"

"Funny you should mention that," Harry said. His face suddenly broke into a wide smile. "Like I said, an acquaintance mentioned it to me long ago, and I thought I would never find use for this place. He's here, actually," he added, surprising Hermione. "Would you care to meet him? Funny bloke, he is. I think you'd like him."

"He's _here_? Well, yes, I suppose –"

Harry stood to greet a person behind Hermione that she could not see. Hermione craned her neck around to meet the mystery man that had passed along the location of this interesting club, wondering what kind of fellow he could be. Anyone so fanatical about a place like _this_ had to be a bit out of their mind, Hermione presumed.

She stood next to Harry to properly look into the face of his, as he had said, old friend from the Ministry. And she paused, her breath stopping in shock and slight disgust.

"Keleher! Good to see you, mate," Harry exclaimed, clasping hands with a man who was grinning amiably back. "And thanks again for the recommendation."

It was none other than Braedon Keleher, the flying professor at Hogwarts. The annoying, egotistical, womanizing, and admittedly handsome flying professor Hermione and the rest of the staff had come to despise. _This_ was Harry's _friend_ who had given him the site of the Rogue Chimaera? Hermione couldn't believe it. But then again, she wouldn't put it past Keleher – now that she thought about it, this seemed very much a place for him to spend his nights. He was most likely one of the regulars at the bar for that irritated half-Veela witch.

"And this is my friend, Herm –"

"_Hermione_!" Braedon exclaimed, looking positively overjoyed at the sight of Hermione standing beside Harry, wearing an obvious expression of sour revulsion. "How _wonderful_ to see you!" He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek; normally, by now, Hermione would have reached out and slapped him across the face, but this time she was rooted to the spot in shock and it seemed as if her body momentarily forgot how to function.

"You two know each other?" Harry asked, an amused expression crossing his face.

"No, we –"

"Of course!" Braedon explained, unable to take his eyes off the witch who so looked like she wished she could hex him. "We both teach at Hogwarts, Harry, remember? Hermione and I go _way_ back."

"Yes, way back about three months," Hermione added dryly.

"Ah," was all Harry could muster, amusement evident in his voice.

"How do _you_ two know each other?" Hermione demanded. She was slightly flabbergasted that Harry had actually called this repulsive slug of a man his _old friend._

"Braedon used to work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports," said Harry, "before he was offered a position up at the school. Once got me the best bloodiest tickets in the country to a World Cup a few years back. I _owe_ this man, Hermione."

"Good match, that one," Braedon mused wistfully.

"I see," Hermione muttered, narrowing her eyes at Braedon who was still gazing lustfully at her. "Tell me," she asked with a hint of contempt in her tone. "When you show up late for your Flying classes, is it because you were here getting drunk out of your mind?"

"Er –" Braedon paused, and began laughing nervously, glancing at Harry.

"I think I see someone I know over there," Harry invented quickly, feigning interest in an invisible person across the room. "You'll be all right, Hermione? I'll only be a minute." With that he scuttled to the other side of the room, obviously wanting to avoid getting in the middle of a fight. After years of having to endure Hermione/Ron arguments, he had gained quite a bit of knowledge and always knew the exact time to disappear in order to stay uninvolved.

"Hmph," Hermione said haughtily, turning her back and beginning to leave Braedon as well.

"Hey, wait," he shouted, stepping forward and grabbing her arm gently. "Come on, don't leave. What's up with you?"

"None of your business."

Braedon chuckled, his hand still gripping Hermione's arm. "Feisty, you are. Listen," he said quickly before she could confront him for referring to her as _feisty_, "let me buy you a drink. Please? You just can't leave yet. You don't want Harry thinking he brought you here in vain, right?"

Hermione halted and turned around to face him, a question forming on her lips. Was it _that_ obvious she stuck out in a club like this? Was that the thought on everyone's mind – _Look at that girl, see her? She doesn't belong here._ True, Hermione knew the people surrounding her weren't her friends, they weren't even remotely her _type_, but she wasn't about to let people stereotype her like that, especially Braedon Keleher.

"Fine," she said, prying the Flying professor's arm off her own. "Go get me the, er – the one that's on the special, whatever it's called."

"Sherry?" Braedon asked in surprise.

"Yes, that."

Braedon disappeared into a sea of people once again and Hermione fell back onto the cozy chair, letting it swallow her up. She sighed. What was she getting herself into? For a moment, she honestly wished Harry would have listened and taken her to the bookstore instead. Or better yet, she wished she were curled up in front of the fireplace in the staff room, simply grading essays with a nice cup of hot chocolate. The music was getting to her head, getting inside her ears and pounding with determination; the smoky smell of the club was traveling down her throat, tickling it and making her choke. _I'll tell Harry I'm getting tired and we should head back up_, she considered, attempting to think of the best way to break it to her friend that she was not, as he had hoped, having the time of her life.

Braedon reappeared with two glasses in tow, Hermione's sherry and a flamboyantly orange drink of his own. He sunk onto the chair next to her and handed her the glass, swapping a cheers (a rather forced one on Hermione's part). Hermione watched as Braedon took an elegant sip of his drink, then looked up and began smiling at her once more. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Hermione, in an attempt to avoid awkward conversation, lifted her own cup to her lips and began to pour it unceremoniously down her throat. The wonderful, exclusive taste burst into her mouth again, warming her insides (even though the drink was cold) and making her feel rather bubbly. Several seconds later she had, once again, drained the entire glass, to Braedon's astonishment. She felt a distinct dizziness, perhaps it was; her head suddenly felt much lighter and the dark thoughts that had been swirling around in it all night quickly evaporated. She decided she _very_ much liked this drink.

"I can't believe you just drank that whole thing," Braedon said. "You amaze me, Granger."

Hermione giggled, and then mentally slapped herself for doing so.

"I'll, uh – I'll go get you another," Braedon offered. "Don't go anywhere," he added with a wink as he set down his orange drink and traveled back up to the bar. Hermione watched him leave and then, in an uncharacteristic move of curiosity, reached out to grab his glass, bringing it to her nose. She sniffed, then, deeming the drink not poisoned, tipped the cup into her mouth. This, whatever it was, was much thinner than her sherry and cooled her mouth, then her tongue, then her throat. It had a very distinct citrus taste and was rather tangy but Hermione didn't mind; she decided she liked this one, too. Actually, the club served _very_ good drinks – why was everyone else still drinking pumpkin juice when they could be having _this_?

Hermione saw Braedon reappear some ten feet away and quickly set down his drink, nearly knocking it over while doing so. He approached her, beaming, and handed her another sherry before sitting down and taking his own drink. He raised it to his lips but didn't drink it; instead, his eyes were focused on Hermione, watching her intently.

"Well, aren't you going to drink that?" he asked.

"Oh, right." Hermione tipped the sherry into her mouth again and began to drain the glass, but stopped abruptly, nearly choking. There was something definitely different about her drink this time; where was the eccentrically sweet yet nutty flavor that warmed her mouth? Instead, she felt as if she were swallowing cold daggers, the cold traveling up to her head, making her rather dizzy. And since when were there two Braedon Kelehers seated next to her?

"You sure this is the right one?" she asked, hiccupping.

"Of course," Braedon reassured her, taking a swig of his citrus drink. "Sherry, is it not?"

Hermione shrugged and downed the rest of the cup, thankful for it to finally be gone. She cast her glass aside, definitely not wanting any more cherry, or whatever it was called. Obviously, by the third time, it didn't taste quite so good anymore. It didn't make her _feel_ quite so good anymore, either, she realized. Where had this headache come from?

"So, Hermione Granger," Braedon began in a rather deep, husky voice. "You fascinate me, you really do, what with your strict school teacher façade and all. I never knew you to be such a gregarious woman after hours. It's quite attractive, actually."

Hermione hiccupped again.

"You know, I heard from a very reputable source that you aren't, shall we say, very gifted when it comes to flying," said Braedon. He reached out his hand towards Hermione's and began stroking it. "What are you doing later tonight?"

"I'm – _hic_ – sleeping, like normal people."

"Ah, well, I had an idea," said Braedon. His hand was now tightly clutching Hermione's and Hermione, who was too busy holding her breath in hopes her annoying hiccups would vanish, hadn't the strength to pull away. "Perhaps I could give you a little lesson, in flying, that is. I'm quite skilled with the broom, you know. We could go out on the pitch, just you, me, and the stars. What do you say? Then we could get to the sleeping part later."

Suddenly, Hermione's senses kicked back in. Her hiccups were gone, though her headache and hazy vision were not, and she promptly yanked her hand away from Braedon, who started. What was she _doing_? What was she doing, sitting in the middle of a nightclub next to a man such as Braedon Keleher, hiccupping profusely, while allowing this _dog_ to _stroke_ her hand, let alone even touch her? She stood, with a half a mind to slap Braedon, but as she was not entirely sure where his cheek was, decided against it. "I have to go now," she spat, grabbing her cloak and stumbling slightly. "If you come anywhere near me, I'll be sure – be sure to – I'll hex you, or something," she finished lamely, her head pounding awfully. She couldn't even form a coherent thought anymore. Braedon stood and watched her retreating back, his face screwed up in confusion. Hermione thought she heard shouts of, "Wait! Hermione!" but didn't waste time trying to figure out if it was Keleher or not. Her legs felt as if they were made of jelly and the faces of the crowd around her were blurred; the only sensible thought she could form was to find Harry. She couldn't take any more of this.

Harry, however, was nowhere to be seen. Images and colors were swirling past her in a dizzying rainbow; for a moment, she thought she saw a man with black hair and dark robes standing off to the right side of the room, but she couldn't wait to find out. She had to sit down before she collapsed. The bar was nearest, so Hermione, still clutching her cloak tightly against her chest, made her way past a group of tap-dancing dwarves to the long, chrome table. Thankfully, the irritable bartender was nowhere in sight. The last thing on her mind was to order another shurry, or whatever it was. She frankly couldn't remember anymore.

The bar was rather empty now, as compared to when Hermione had first visited it. Two seats down on her right was a man with a large, green eyeball protruding from his forehead. He was moving his finger in a circular motion, swirling around a spoon in his cup and muttering to himself. Hermione jerked her head to her left, accompanied by much more throbbing in her temple, to find two hooded figures about three seats away, apparently deep in discussion. She laid her head gingerly on top of the counter and closed her eyes. The excruciating pain in her head didn't disappear, though; if anything, it only intensified. She desperately wished for Harry to find her so they could return to Hogwarts. All she wanted to do now was fall onto the four-poster in her cozy dorm and sleep.

The voices from the two men on her left began drifting towards her and something about their tone attracted Hermione's attention. She knew she would not be able to walk if she tried, so all she could do was wait at the bar for Harry. He'd find her eventually. In the meantime, she decided to let the nearby voices occupy her mind; they were speaking loudly, obviously not expecting anyone around them to listen due to the clamor of the club.

"… a stupid mistake," one man was saying in between gulps of his drink. "Apparently, a group of Aurors showed up a short time after, only to find the village in ruins. Bellatrix seems to be getting frustrated, but burning down the Muggle village only gave those damn Aurors a fresh lead. I suspect she's gone a bit off her rocker," the man added, leaning in towards his comrade.

Bellatrix… that name sounded oddly familiar to Hermione. Who was Bellatrix? Her throbbing headache wouldn't let her think properly, so she wasn't entirely sure.

"Nice to know _you've_ been enjoying yourself, Consuelos, while I've been stuck here on my arse corresponding with that _witch_," the second man said, spitting out the final word in disgust. "She's one hell of a nightmare, let me tell you. And when I haven't gotten recent news from Bellatrix, she often _hexes_ me, even."

"Sorry, mate," remarked the man known as Consuelos, draining his cup.

"What's Bellatrix planning to do with that records book, by the way?" the other man asked. "The one of Potter's, I mean. Pretty bloody valuable if you ask me; we could seriously use that to our advantage."

Potter. Now, Hermione was _sure_ she knew that name. Who could that be? Oh, right, Harry. She wondered if these men were possibly more friends of his she didn't know about. Why else would they be talking about him?

"You're right, it _is_ valuable. When she originally told me of her plan to steal it, I honestly didn't believe it could be done. She astonishes me, Bellatrix," said Consuelos with a hint of admiration in his voice. "But she's taking her time, studying everything the Aurors have written down line by line. Do you know, they know nearly everything by now?"

"No!" exclaimed the other man, aghast.

"Well, actually, not _quite_ everything. The morons have yet to pick up on a few _very_ key pieces, thankfully. Our entire plan would be screwed otherwise. They are becoming wiser, though," said Consuelos, speaking with evident hatred, "thanks to those three up at the school. In fact, they know more themselves than the whole damn Ministry of Magic put together."

"Potter, Weasley, and Granger, you mean?"

Hermione started. This time, she definitely knew the name Granger – it was her own. Hermione Granger. They were talking about _her_. Could she have possibly known the men? She chanced a glance at them, her vision blurring harshly for a moment at such movement, but when it cleared, the men were still indecipherable, as their cloaks were pulled over their heads.

"Yes, them," spat Consuelos. "I _told_ Bellatrix our plan could be ruined with them involved, but she simply brushed it aside and said it only made the situation even direr. And what with Potter and his friends so very close to everything, I said the chance of them finding out was too great. Bellatrix's a hard-headed, if not sometimes foolish woman, but she claims she knows what she's doing. And she's working through someone very gifted and reliable this time."

The second man nodded his head in silent agreement. "It's in the papers now, did you see?" he said after a moment. "About us, I mean. She told the Ministry about us. Does Bellatrix know about this?"

Consuelos sighed. "Of _course_ Bellatrix knows, Anthony, you blithering idiot," he hissed. "She ordered it to be done. How dare you even question her authority?"

"Sorry, sorry," Anthony muttered. "Didn't know. I don't understand why, though. I thought she wanted to keep our return a secret?"

"She did, at first," Consuelos explained, as if his time were being wasted talking to his rather dull companion. "But don't you understand? She _wants_ the wizarding world to know about our return. It's going to completely throw them into chaos. They've all been thinking for the past six years that they're safe, and we were gone for good. This will show them how wrong they are. And having the Ministry in a mess, with the Aurors working against them by now, is all part of the plan, Bellatrix says. It's a _vital_ part that will allow for her to finish the job."

Hermione let out another unexpected hiccup, causing both men to look her way. She kept her head down, hoping they wouldn't end their conversation because, even though Harry was taking an _awfully_ long time to find her and take her back up to the school, she was rather enjoying their interesting discussion, whatever it was about. The pounding in her head had becoming nearly unbearable, though, she realized. Her eyes began to droop and her legs and arms felt very weak; she could barely move them. She honestly considered falling asleep on the counter, but the two men continued talking, and she willed herself to stay conscious just a bit longer.

"There's one thing I still don't understand," said Anthony. "What do the students at the school have to do with anything? She's always reporting to me what's going on up there, and I don't understand the point of controlling kids into doing horrendous things when we have bigger issues at hand. Why is Bellatrix wasting her time –?"

"God, Anthony," Consuelos cried out with a groan. "You're a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. You're supposed to _know_ these things, man!"

Anthony mumbled a quick apology, saying nobody ever told him anything.

"Fine, I'll explain it again," said Consuelos with a sigh. "You better listen this time. It's pretty obvious if you think about it. First, force the students into doing devastating things that'll distract the Ministry. That'll get them to stop thinking about us for once. And what with the records book gone and all, it's pretty difficult to get any work done; of course, the Aurors can use what they wrote down elsewhere, but I can guarantee you that it isn't very helpful. Then, Bellatrix said that we move on to controlling more important people when they don't expect it because they are so wrapped up in the happenings of Hogwarts – members of the Ministry of Magic, for instance. That'll get us _inside_ the Ministry, where we can start really making an effect. It's only a matter of time before Bellatrix is the new Ministress of Magic. In the meantime, out in Eastern Europe, she's concentrating on that blasted book we found. You know the one_, Gnomi Elencho_ or whatever the hell she said it was called."

"I've heard of it," said Anthony. "Laos told me that she was having trouble deciphering it, and –"

"Yes, but Bellatrix can pull off anything. She'll manage to figure it out eventually. It's what we've been looking for, and now with our hands on it and the person she's working through, we can finally complete the plan."

"Wow," breathed Anthony. "She is an absolute genius. We just may be able to pull this off. Hell, I just don't want to go back to Azkaban again. Only… there's still one thing that stands in our way, mate," he finished dejectedly.

"Potter. And the other two."

"Right. What are we going to do about them?"

Hermione let out a gasp; a sharp pain shot through her head and she realized that her headache had now transformed into a severe migraine. Her vision blurred again until she could barely make out the bar on which she was practically laying. She suddenly wondered where she was, and what she was doing, and why she was going blind. What was her name, again? And where were those voices coming from? Perhaps from inside her own head?

"Well, Bellatrix has a scheme, all right," Consuelos remarked. "You _do_ know why the other Death Eaters are slowly moving northwest, don't you?"

And that's when it happened – Hermione's eyes rolled up into the top of her head and her vision went permanently dark. She couldn't remember anything at all and felt as if she were going to be violently sick any moment. But before anything of the sort could happen, she slumped forward; her head smacked against the cold, chrome table, and she passed out.

* * *

"Hermione? Are you awake?" 

Hermione thought she heard a very distant voice. It seemed to be calling her, and it sounded rather worried and urgent, but she didn't know how to get to it. Everything was dark; she couldn't remember where she was, or how she had gotten there. She tried to reach out but her arm wouldn't move. She opened her mouth to call, to beckon the voice forward, but no sound came out.

"Are you awake?" the voice repeated, much louder this time.

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes snapped open, and the darkness was gone. She found she was lying in a quite comfortable and large four-poster bed in a room she did not recognize. Daylight was streaming in through the windows, vast expanses of snowy grounds glittering in the background. With a groan, she turned her head to the side; for some reason, it was throbbing slightly, making the small movement quite painful. Then, unexpectedly, a face appeared, hovering over her and wearing an expression of powerful concern. Hermione blinked. She recognized this face.

"Harry?"

Harry grinned and drew back, heaving a large sigh of relief at seeing his friend regain consciousness. "Hey," he said, sinking onto the end of Hermione's bed. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got knocked by a hippogriff," Hermione murmured, struggling to sit up. Her head swirled and she felt a fresh wave of nausea wash over her, so decided against it and fell back helplessly onto her pillows again.

"Er – where am I?"

"In your dorm," Harry explained, worry flashing across his face again. "At Hogwarts. Remember?"

Hermione's eyes wandered the room and, taking in her surroundings, she realized he was right. So she was. But how had she gotten there? She attempted to plunge into her mind for the answer; unfortunately, it was all muddled, and she still couldn't remember anything, even though she felt like she had something to tell Harry. Something important.

"Harry, what happened to me? How did I get here?"

"You don't remember anything?" he asked cautiously.

"No, not really. My head hurts horribly, though, and it's even worse when I try to think."

"Just – just take it easy, all right?" Harry advised her. "Last night, you were – well, you were rather _drunk_, to say the least, Hermione. At the club, remember? The Rogue Chimaera."

"I was _what_?" Hermione gasped, appalled. Then, an image came to her mind, one of a shabby door at the end of a dark corridor. Past the door was a large, circular room, full of extravagant, dancing people and creatures. The nightclub. She remembered. But she still felt as if there were something else, something significant, tugging at the corner of her mind.

"I found you unconscious at the bar," Harry continued, watching her reaction carefully. "You wouldn't wake so I had to drag you out of the club, then we Apparated to the school gates, where I had arranged for a carriage to take us back up to the school. Luckily, we were unseen; imagine trying to explain a drunken Professor Granger to someone," he added wryly, attempting a small smile.

"I don't believe this," Hermione said. And she honestly couldn't. How could she allow something so _irresponsible_ happen to her? "Do you know _how_ I got – I got, well, you know –"

"It was Keleher," Harry muttered. His face was contorted in anger towards the man he had been warmly calling his friend just the night before. "I suspect he put something in your drink, I didn't stick around to find the sick bastard and –"

Something Harry had said seconds ago finally caught up with Hermione. _I found you unconscious at the bar_. The long, chrome bar. The irritable half-Veela bartender. The many suggestions on which drink to order. The man bearing the large, green eyeball. The two hooded figures in hushed discussion.

The two hooded figures. Their _discussion_.

"Harry," she said suddenly, cutting him off in the midst of recounting all of Braedon Keleher's disgusting antics of the night before, which, Hermione knew, she would love to hear at a later time. She reached out and grasped his arm tightly, words she had heard at the bar flowing back into her brain at a sickening pace. "Harry, last night, at the bar… I overheard – oh, _God_, I can't believe this. I can't believe they were there…"

"What, Hermione?" Harry asked. His tone quickly went from worried and concerned to anxious and restless, his face now full of urgency. He could tell by the look on Hermione's face that this was important. "Who was there?"

"Death Eaters," Hermione whispered, the two words escaping from her lips as if they were death themselves. She turned to face her friend who was staring at her in disbelief, a full story now on her mind. She finally remembered.

"I have something to tell you."


	22. Gloomy Holidays

**Author's Notes:** This chapter was really enjoyable to write, too, actually. Just like the last one. Ahh, I absolutely love creating my very own OCs and giving them their own personalities, trademarks, quirky sardonic attitudes, etc. With that said, I certainly look foward to actually writing my _own_ fiction someday, something not based off a very loveable little (or, anymore, not-so-little) boy wizard protagonist. Speaking of, only a couple more weeks until Half-Blood Prince! Rejoice! I find this to be a happy point of my summer, and I am not sure if that is pathetic or comical.

This chapter was incredibly, incredibly long on Word, and I know I say that about every chapter but that's only because they get lengthier every time. Which is great, of course. I find that I like longer chapters better than short, boring, what-the-hell-was-the-point-of-this chapters. And hopefully, some certain things were revealed in this, along with a couple major but perhaps slightly veiled plot pieces at the end - and also hopefully, on this note, you'll want to read on with more excitement than usual! If anyone is confused, don't hesitate to ask; it may be a lot to absorb and contain at once, and I know you're not all human paper towels.

And the faster you review, the faster I post the next chapter (which is already written out, surprise surprise)!

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**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: GLOOMY HOLIDAYS**

"So there I was, completely wandless, dangling off a hundred-foot cliff with only the sea below me. The griffin was slowly advancing on me, obviously taking great delight in seeing its soon-to-be lunch hanging on for dear life – or so he thought. I had one hand on the cliff, the other clutching the griffin's cursed treasure, vividly imagining what my funeral would be like. And then, just as the griffin charged forward and I began to slip, none other than _Harry_ flew up to my rescue on his broomstick, safely securing both our lives from the hungry griffin. Isn't that right, mate?"

Harry looked up from his uneaten Christmas lunch to find the entire staff table staring at him in admiration. Ron was seated across from him, a look of pure elation on his face at, once again, being the center of attention with his heroic and slightly exaggerated tale. To say the very least, Harry was not in a mood to contribute to Ron's boastful story and felt sick with so many eyes on him, all waiting for him to launch into another account about Ron treacherously dangling off a cliff, risking his life for some bloody cursed treasure. He remembered the adventure Ron was describing quite well and was almost sure _he_ was the one clinging onto the edge of a cliff a hundred feet above the ocean.

Harry nodded and cast his eyes down towards his cold turkey, which stared back at him grimly. He vaguely noticed Ron's crestfallen face; he was clearly disappointed that Harry had no interest in praising him and instead launched into another embroidered account, this one involving a mutated banshee who had been sent to kill him and instead, found herself falling in love with the bragging Department of Mysteries Head.

"You all right?" Hermione whispered on Harry's left. He turned his head to look into her bloodshot eyes and pale face, the apparent signs of a hangover, and nodded slowly. But he knew that he was not all right in the very least; in fact, he was far from it.

Just hours ago, Hermione had revealed to him what she had overheard the night before at the bar. Harry was surprised that she could recall so much of the men's conversation, considering her feeble state at the time, but was thankful nonetheless. As angry at himself as he was for letting Hermione indulge in too many alcoholic drinks, resulting in her intoxication, he realized that if he had not left her, then she never would have stumbled across the two Death Eaters, nor would they have gained such valuable information to the advantage of their enemy.

Harry had gone through a rollercoaster of emotions during Hermione's explanation; anticipation, shock, anger, and, to top everything off, absolute confusion. There was no doubt that one man seemed to be closely related to Bellatrix Lestrange while the other man, oddly, had been sent to watch over Hogwarts. Or, as he had put it, correspond with "that witch". Hermione and Harry both were baffled over this, wondering who he had been referring to. They also talked of someone Lestrange was "working through" – could this, perhaps, be the same person? Maybe even the person who had tipped the Ministry off about the secrecy of the Aurors' investigations? And, branching out even farther, this could yet again be the very insane person who had committed the ghastly murder of the Hogwarts student not long ago. While specific information about this intangible character eluded Harry, he was sure that all destruction was the doing of one mad follower of Bellatrix Lestrange. Too many coincidences were piling on top of each other and, even though Hermione disagreed, Harry knew this meant they were stumbling onto facts.

"She definitely has your records book, Harry," Hermione had said reluctantly earlier that morning. He knew she was not fully enlightened as to what the book specifically contained, but noticed her uneasiness even so. "She's the one who stole it."

Harry had not doubted this in the very least, but now it was clear; demented, lethal Death Eaters somewhere in Eastern Europe were pouring over the Aurors' records book that very minute, taking in all of their notations and discoveries, probably amazed at their cunning and, at the same time, amused by their stupidity of letting it fall into the rival's hands. Harry frowned and gritted his teeth at this very thought; how could he be so _careless_? The Aurors had all trusted him to protect their vital tome of information and instead, he had practically handed it to Lestrange. Though a fair amount of the knowledge was carefully stored away in his brain, the intelligence that had been so difficult to obtain and secure was now futile; Lestrange herself now knew of all the Aurors had picked up, now knew of everything they had worked towards restricting in hopes of catching the Death Eaters off guard with all their data. The magnitude of the situation weighed down upon Harry in the form of a dark, gloomy guilt. _Moody's going to murder me for this_, he thought in desolation.

Another fact that was finally clear was that of the students' mysterious behavior; this was certainly the work of Lestrange and the Death Eaters. Though he had suspected the two to be tied together, he had no idea the happenings were so directly connected nor that they were part of Lestrange's sick yet carefully crafted plot. He tried to piece together all the information he had gained that morning, but his head began throbbing, as it had been doing so often lately. He realized they were in desperate need of another meeting with the Aurors, one without those damned Ministry officials breathing down their necks and chastising them. This information urgently needed to be conveyed to the Aurors – this was what they had all been waiting for. New information had been scarce, but thanks to Hermione, they had just gained some quite valuable facts without the knowledge of their opponents. Perhaps these facts would be it, the ones that would fuse together the entire mystery, the ones that would bring down Lestrange and her followers and save the wizarding world from falling into their villainous clutches…

"Harry?"

"I'm fine," he muttered vaguely in Hermione's direction. He did not feel up to spilling out the contents of his mind at the moment, especially not in the midst of a dozen unaware chattering professors.

Hermione seemed unconvinced and gave him a look of weary concern, but pursed her lips and kept quiet nonetheless. Her eyes fell to her plate and Harry, following her gaze, found that she had not touched her Christmas lunch either.

Laughter tinkled throughout the air again, which was heavy with the scent of evergreens, quite unlike Ron's boasting laugh (he was now plowing through some act of hilarity during one of his adventurous trips) and Harry's head snapped up to find Ginny, Bella, and Desdemona immersed in conversation several seats down the table. Ginny was relating a story from a childhood Christmas spent at the Burrow to the two women, who listened raptly, their eyes shining with tears of mirth. Harry wondered how anybody could be laughing with such contentment when so many dark, ominous things were plaguing him, and plaguing the rest of the world as well without their knowledge. He found himself wishing he too could experience sharing the joy of a joke, oblivious to the troubles of the Death Eaters. But he couldn't. He was Harry Potter – things were never that easy for him, he reminded himself with a touch of aggravation. Who else would take upon the responsibility if he wouldn't? It went without saying the Aurors would be rather useless without him, as skilled and helpful as everyone else on the case were. And yet here were other people, just feet away, basking in the merriment of the season, utterly unaware to everything that was currently occupying Harry's thoughts.

He was shaken out of his gloomy reverie when he realized someone was waving at him. His eyes focused on Bella, seated across the table and two seats down, who had been attempting to catch his attention and broke into a charming grin when Harry met her eyes. She was dressed in deep red robes, obviously reflecting the spirit of the holidays, that looked rather nice against her dark skin tone, he decided. Her curled, chocolate hair was pulled up into a messy bun, strands escaping here and there, framing her face agreeably. Harry noted that she was actually quite attractive, and was surprised he had not recognized this before.

"Daydreaming?" she asked, the word tainted by her accent and coming out a dozen times more seductive than if an English woman had uttered it.

Harry shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. For the first time in days, all thoughts centered around Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly slipped from his mind, completely forgotten in the task of willing his tongue to stray from saying anything that would make him come across as stupid or idiotic.

"Could you pass me the margarine, please?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, reaching out to grab the silver plate and pushing it towards the Astronomy professor. She rewarded him with another dazzling smile and promptly began buttering her muffin, lapsing into conversation with Desdemona and Ginny once more.

Harry, however, felt his eyes linger on Bella several more seconds than necessary, especially as she was no longer gazing at him. There was something mystifying – captivating, even – about this woman whom the whole staff seemed to appreciate and, perhaps, admire. She had taken an immediate liking to him the moment he had arrived at Hogwarts; during their first conversation, she had revealed that she always had been interested in the work of Aurors, particularly in his. She had even considered going into the field but instead drifted towards Astronomy, due to her passionate interest in the stars and planets. She had spent several minutes describing to him the enormity of her subject and how fascinating it was; Harry found himself listening attentively, even though Astronomy had always seemed dull and pointless to him during his schooldays, right next to Divination. Bella, however, made Astronomy as interesting as Quidditch.

She had also proved to be a great help with the happenings at Hogwarts, much to Harry's gratitude. Though she was uninformed about everything concerning Lestrange, the Death Eaters, and the work of the Aurors, she still understood the gravity of their troubles and was always willing to assist. At the request of McGonagall, she kept her eyes alert for any signs of odd behavior during her midnight classes and always reported to Harry afterwards. She also confided in him that it was written in the stars that Hogwarts would face many difficult oncoming challenges. Harry was reminded of his own specious Divination professor at this, but Bella came across as quite authentic, and he respected that. He respected _her_.

But there was something beyond her beauty and teaching skills that mesmerized Harry. Bella was a woman unlike any he had ever met before, and since his life was usually so devoted to Auror business, he never had much time to dwell on the subject of women. He remembered his boyhood infatuation with a girl at Hogwarts, Cho Chang, who he never saw again after graduation; there had been one or two others, but nothing was ever sincere. Work always managed to get in the way and Harry always found himself taking the responsible route of remaining loyal to the Aurors. True, his female friends were never quite too happy about this, but as he hardly had any female friends left to speak of, he had never minded much. Until now.

He had always yearned for someone to whom he could pour out his mind's contents; someone he knew would listen and encourage him during times of hindrance. Ron was inadequate, as he usually faced the same problems as Harry and never had any words of comfort. Hermione would listen fixedly but her input was never very consoling; she was too logical and always managed to point out the reason in these situations, which Harry was already very well aware of. Naturally, there was no point in seeking out reassurance from any of his fellow Aurors because, as in Ron's situation, their minds were boggled with similar dilemmas and were usually too busy for any such support.

Bella listened. Even though he never confided in her his darkest thoughts that were not allowed outside the elite ring of people including himself, the Aurors, McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione, she was attentive when Harry needed somebody to be. He desperately wished he could share with her the other worries badgering him but knew that was out of the question. As much as he trusted Bella, they couldn't take any chances.

Her eyes suddenly lit up as she let out another charismatic cry of laughter. Ginny and Desdemona too dissolved into fits of giggles, like a couple of young schoolgirls. Bella raised her head, wiping tears from her chestnut eyes, and her gaze suddenly connected with Harry's, who grinned sheepishly and quickly looked away. He scolded himself for letting her catch him staring; she must think him terribly stupid by now, and he couldn't blame her.

He felt someone else's eyes on him and turned to find Hermione, in all her fatigue and weakness, smirking knowingly. Harry had an unexpected notion to tell her off for being so probing but it quickly passed as another thought, this time one completely unrelated to a certain dark-haired professor across the table, passed through his mind.

Harry stood abruptly, earning the gazes of the other adults seated along the table. He glanced from his uneaten lunch to Bella, who was looking still jovial yet slightly taken aback, to Hermione, who was conveying a sense of confusion, to Ron. Harry widened his eyes and blinked several times at the wizard seated across from him, who immediately gave him a quick nod of silent comprehension.

"Excuse us," he muttered, carefully avoiding the curious stares from the professors. He found Hermione's arm and tugged hard, causing her to rise to her feet as well. The three casually departed from the table, Harry aware of all eyes on his back as they left. Hermione, still very much within earshot, opened her mouth and began to form a sentence but Harry shushed her; instead, they left the Hall in silence, leaving three empty seats at the head table and two untouched Christmas lunches.

* * *

"Harry, I don't think this is such a good idea," said Hermione some twenty minutes later. 

"I think it's a brilliant idea," Ron countered, a note of aggressiveness in his voice.

Hermione continued on as if she hadn't heard Ron (or, really, as if he wasn't in the same room with her at all). "This is really risky. Somebody at the Ministry could find out and track them down, and listen in on our meeting, or –" She broke off at the look on Ron's face and hung her head, letting the words reverberate around the room and then die.

The three were standing by the window in the straw-littered Owlery, hundreds of dark beady eyes peering down upon them, their owners hooting forlornly and adjusting their wrings. Harry watched as the owl he had chosen, a small but swift tawny, sped off through the wintry sky from which soft snowflakes were now descending. A letter addressed to Alastor Moody was clenched tightly in its beak.

While seated in the Great Hall lost in thought, Harry had realized they were in severe need of an unmonitored, unplanned Auror meeting, one where members of the Ministry weren't present. The information Hermione had overhead the night before greatly needed to be relayed to Moody and his fellow Aurors; perhaps with others who saw the situation for what it really was (dangerous, deadly, and quite dismal), they would be able to sort out the newly-collected information and find a few missing pieces from the great puzzle of a problem they were all facing. He indistinctly wondered why he hadn't gone to the Owlery that morning when Hermione had first given him details of the Death Eaters' conversation.

Ron was still unacquainted with nearly the whole story; Harry had thrown together a very sloppy summary to get him up to speed but knew there was much more to tell. He decided Ron could wait until later, when the rest of the Aurors would arrive and hear the tale first-hand as well.

"But only Tonks and Moody were originally going to come," Hermione said in a small, strained voice, clearly avoiding Ron's eye and choosing to ignore the scowl on his face. "Don't you think someone will notice nine Aurors missing from Headquarters?"

Harry shivered as a gust of wind blew in several large snowflakes through the wide, glassless window. "No," he answered. "Most of the Ministry have better things to do than baby-sit Aurors. And the Aurors aren't stupid, either. If they think it's a threat to come then they won't come. But this is serious information they need to hear," he added, turning to face Ron and Hermione with a grim expression on his face. "_Anything_ concerning Lestrange they need to hear."

"When are they arriving?" Ron asked, now shivering himself.

"After the Christmas feast," said Harry. He twisted his head to gaze out the window again; the snow was nearly blinding and now coming down quite thickly, covering the grounds like a soft blanket and sprinkling the tops of the trees in the distance. "As soon as it's dark. They're flying by broom to the top of the Astronomy tower in order to arrive inconspicuously. I don't think it would be a good idea to attract much attention."

"And the meeting?"

"I know of a room on the fifth floor down the corridor from that statue of the three-eyed goblin. It's one of those odd ones that only appears every so often – I think this one you can only get into on Fridays or something, but it's good enough."

Though Harry was not in a mood to admit it, he knew Hermione was right, as usual; it _was_ awfully risky to summon nearly a dozen Aurors from the Ministry to Hogwarts, especially as they were not Marshall Dempsey's favorite people at the moment. He desperately hoped everything would go off without a hitch, because, even though he would not discuss it with Ron or Hermione, he knew time was crucial now. Every moment mattered, and precious seconds were slipping away before his very eyes; who knew what Bellatrix Lestrange and her horde of followers were capable of with the records book in their hands?

* * *

For the trio, the remainder of the afternoon leading up to the Christmas feast was spent lounging around Hogwarts castle, basking in the radiance of the holiday merriment – or that's the picture they portrayed for their fellow professors, at least. As much as Harry tried to be cheerful, the prospect of relaying new information to Moody and the other Aurors and, of course, the ever-present worry concerning Lestrange at the back of his mind both spent much of the day occupying his thoughts. Several times Ron attempted to coax him into a game of wizard's chess but Harry shrugged the idea off, insisting there was no point as Ron would beat him appallingly in the end, as usual. 

Christmas was never an overly exuberant event for Harry, anyway; on most occasions, he was in the midst of an important Auror mission and was too busy fending off Dark wizards to celebrate. The Hogwarts days of waking up to delicious food and a small heap of presents at the end of his bed had long since concluded. He had no family to exchange gifts with and though he did have a small-knit group of friends and acquaintances, time for all of them was more wisely spent defending the world than mulling over the perfect presents to purchase.

With a morose sigh, Harry let his eyes wander around the staff room, where most of the staff was currently assembled. In a far corner, Desdemona was setting off magical fireworks amongst a small group of teachers who were all cheering her on, including a very enthusiastic Professor Flitwick. Josie Hacklebush was seated close by, glaring at Desdemona furiously over the top of her thin glasses and making tut-tutting noises under her breath. Harry watched her glance around as if expecting someone else to put a stop to Desdemona's childish behavior, but as the rest of the room was absorbed in their own activities and, he suspected, rather enjoying the red and green sparkling shapes now hurtling around the room, nobody objected. Josie heaved a heavy sigh and buried her face behind a thick book, her eyes appearing every now and then over the top to fix Desdemona with a stringent frown.

The only other person in the room who was hidden behind a book was Hermione. She and Harry were seated next to one another, facing the crackling fire with their backs to the hubbub of the jovial staff. Harry vaguely wondered why anybody in their right mind would choose Christmas to immerse themselves in a rather dull-looking hardback, but, studying Hermione's face, he realized her expression was quite blank and her eyes were unfocused and stationary. He supposed that she too had more important things on her mind and could not bother with attempting to block them out.

Harry looked up as a figure appeared at the bottom of the staircase, swimming in layers upon layers of clothing and bearing an amiable grin. Several heads turned upon his arrival and, Harry noticed, their owners too were dressed in quite bulky garments. The person, who bore a great resemblance to a fat carrot, crossed the room towards the door, followed by the other strangely-clad professors.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron shouted at the inch or so of Harry's head that was just visible over the armchair. "We're all going out for a snowball fight, d'you want to join us?"

"Er – no, that's all right, you go on," Harry called after Ron, peering around the corner of his chair. Ron shrugged and ambled through the door with Professors James Horn and Jeffery Yang, soon to be followed by Desdemona, who was shouting after Ron about being fair and not using their wands (though Harry could have sworn she deposited her own wand in the back pocket of her robe). Another figure sprinted across the staff room to join the departing group, and Harry realized with a sharp pang that it was Braedon Keleher.

"Are we picking up Hagrid on the way?" he asked as the hem of his robes disappeared over the threshold of the door. "If so, I claim him to be on my team –"

"You can't _claim_ people, Keleher," he heard Desdemona snap.

The argument between the two grew fainter and fainter along the corridor until the staff room door creaked shut, blocking out the conversation altogether. Harry glanced sideways at Hermione and noticed her cheeks were a bit pinker than they had been before, though her eyes were still stubbornly glaring at a certain point about halfway down the page. He felt a fiery rage burn inside him at the thought of the Flying professor, a rage quite unrelated to his feelings towards Lestrange and the Death Eaters.

Braedon had, no nobody's surprise, showed up at the school just following breakfast with a swagger to his walk and alcohol apparent on his breath. Harry suspected correctly he spent the remainder of the night after his and Hermione's departure at the Rogue Chimaera, drinking to his full capacity and being quite friendly to anyone who could tolerate his behavior. For a moment, he wished that he had accompanied Ron's group out to the grounds, just so he could face Braedon Keleher and perhaps charm a couple snowballs to hit him so forcefully he would find trouble in ever regaining consciousness. He was angry at himself for letting the young, egoistical professor dupe him into believing that he was indeed a respectable gentleman. This anger, however, came nowhere close to matching the fury Harry felt towards Keleher himself – fury at using Hermione for his own twisted pleasure, intoxicating her quite knowingly and enjoying doing so. He felt sick at the thought of what could have happened had Hermione not staggered away from Keleher and experienced a momentary surge of pride in his friend's own strength and willpower.

He and Hermione had avoided the subject up until now. Harry had a slight suspicion Hermione did not want to talk about Braedon or what went on the night before, other than the attendance of the two Death Eaters at the bar. She had a reputation that had been worked towards with difficulty and determination and knew that she did not fancy it to be marred by such an unworthy man. Harry kept quiet about the incident, even to Ron, mainly because he knew that if Ron ever found out, Braedon would be quite unable to ever mount a broom again. He found himself smiling wryly at this, not exactly knowing why.

"What are you grinning about?" Hermione asked wearily, looking up from her book entitled _Teaching Methods of the Fifteenth Century_ for the first time all afternoon.

"Nothing."

"Listen, I've been thinking," she said suddenly after a few moments of silence. She snapped shut her book, cast it aside, and straightened her posture, looking Harry in the face. Her dull expression of fatigue and anxiety matched Harry's own, he was sure. With a quick glance over her chair at the bustling staff room, Hermione lowered her voice to a near whisper. "If the Aurors are arriving after the feast on the top of the Astronomy tower, they'll have to do it discreetly."

"I know that, Hermione," said Harry, feeling irked to be bothered with such pointless information he already knew.

"Well, we won't want anyone to see them," she continued, eyeing Professor Sprout charily, even though she was a good ten feet away from the whispering duo and seemed deeply immersed in a rather lengthy essay. "That's Bella's tower, you know."

Harry had an urge to insert a sarcastic remark at this but decided against it, instead allowing Hermione to plow on through her seemingly futile chat.

"We'll have to lure her away to avoid awkward questioning. If a group of Aurors suddenly appeared outside _my_ office window, I'm sure there would be quite a few inquiries running through my mind. But I'd probably hex them on impulse first, and we can't have that."

"What's your point, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I thought that perhaps Ginny could intercept," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "She wouldn't be too doubtful; she was a part of the Order and all and is more aware of what's going on than most of the staff. I think I'll ask her to invite Bella to the Christmas tea, or something –"

"Hold on," Harry interjected, suddenly aware of what Hermione was saying. "You don't trust Bella?"

Hermione blinked, obviously taken aback by Harry's accusation. "I didn't say that, Harry, I just –"

"But you _don't_ trust her, do you?" he demanded. He craned his neck around in search of the person in question, only to find Bella absent from the room, which now seemed much emptier than it had just moments before. "What's the matter with her?"

"Harry, I never said I didn't trust her," Hermione explained exasperatedly. "I mean, well, she's rather in the dark about everything, isn't she? And she wasn't in the Order, she's from Italy, so –"

"Now you have something against Italians?" Harry exclaimed relatively louder than he had anticipated, pushing his chair back and jumping to his feet. He attracted the severe glare of Josie Hacklebush and could her hear tut-tutting disapprovingly under her breath again.

"You're being ridiculous," Hermione hissed, grabbing the sleeve of his robe and pulling him back into his seat. "Not to mention loud and disturbing, mind you. I'm not discriminating Bella or the Italians or _anyone_, so stop jumping down my throat at things I never even said."

Harry was too annoyed to apologize and instead fixed Hermione with a steely frown. She didn't _know_ Bella like he did; Bella was as dependable as anyone, didn't she see? He would trust her with his life as much as he would Ginny. Luring her away from her own tower seemed pointless, a waste of time and energy, especially when Harry wished Bella _wasn't_ in the dark about the whole tribulation. He wanted the Astronomy professor to be able to share his thoughts, listen as he confided in her, accompany them to the meeting and offer her insight, then come up with a miraculous solution and prove herself to be commendable, as Hermione seemed to believe she was not –

"Please, Harry," Hermione begged, a note of distress in her voice. "Just – just listen to me, all right? I know what I'm doing." When her request was met with yet another glower, she added, "I don't think it's a good idea to involve more people than necessary. McGonagall would disapprove, as would the Aurors, I'm sure. I know you like Bella, Harry, but –"

"What?" he said sharply, the scowl fading from his face.

"– as trustworthy as she undoubtedly is, _we can't take any chances_."

Harry took advantage of a minute's silence, closing his eyes and attempting to shut out the sinister wave of thoughts descending upon his already-battered brain. He knew Hermione was right – when was she ever wrong? He couldn't take this anymore; though the room was much emptier now that a good portion of the staff was currently beating each other mercilessly with snowballs on the Hogwarts grounds, the walls seemed to be slowly closing in on him, suffocating him until he began to doubt he could still breathe. Harry constricted his chest and inhaled a delicious, fresh breath of air, earning an odd look from Hermione, but he paid no attention. He stood again, this time with the intention of going someplace. Where exactly, he was not sure.

"Right," he said with false enthusiasm. "You go talk to Ginny and – and get that settled, then. I've got… something to do… that's not in here. I'll see you at the feast," he finished, feeling somewhat ashamed for making such a lame excuse and held up a hand in an indifferent wave. Hermione looked after him, worry etched across her face again, as Harry darted across the staff room toward the door which was now looking more inviting than ever.

* * *

"This pudding is bloody brilliant, don't you agree, Harry?" Ron asked through a rather large and revolting mouthful of food, brandishing his spoon in the air. 

Harry nodded absently, having finished his first helping of pudding long ago, while Ron was on his fourth. Ron was not the only one raving about the Hogwarts cuisine, however; the staff table and small group of students remaining behind for the holidays were all completely engrossed in the delectable feast, their silverware clinking throughout the Great Hall amid the delightful chatter.

From across the table, Hermione shot Ron a sickened glare and Harry was sure she would have reprimanded him with relish had they been on speaking terms. Instead, she sat immobile in her chair, writhing her hands in her lap and wearing a slightly nervous expression.

The enchanted ceiling above stated that the sun was now setting low in the sky and stars were popping into view across the heavens. Harry glanced at his watch; the Aurors were due to arrive quite soon. He was eager to leave the Hall and meet with them, spilling their latest findings and unburdening his shoulders of the information. There was nothing he wanted more than to finally discuss the ever-growing problems at hand with the group of people he most respected and felt he fit into; but with Ron's current insatiable hunger, however, he felt they would never leave the Christmas feast.

Hermione was now opening and closing her mouth, as if debating with herself whether or not she should say something. Obviously she too had realized their time was running out – soon the feast would end and the teachers and few students would scatter throughout the school once more, but for now, it was completely empty. Emptiness was a necessity if they were planning to sneak the Aurors into the school undetected and hold, as far as the Ministry was concerned, an illegal and unrecorded meeting.

"I don't understand how it's possible to eat _four puddings_ and not burst," Hermione remarked loudly, clearly having finally snapped.

Ron looked up for a moment, his mouth bulging with food, and scowled, but chose not to respond (to Harry's relief). Instead, he finished off his pudding in a similar way to how a cannibal would and wiped his mouth, looking to Harry.

"Right, let's go," Harry muttered, glancing again at the ceiling. The sun was nearly set and the sky was heavily occupied with stars by now. The three pushed back their chairs and began to depart from the table for the second time that day, but no one seemed to notice, as they were all too submerged in the excellent feast to spend valuable eating time questioning them. Harry caught Ginny's eye momentarily; she winked, then stuffed a turkey leg in her mouth and turned back to Bella.

The journey to the Astronomy tower was uneventful and mostly silent. Halfway there, somewhere in the distance a bell sounded seven times, signaling the beginning of a new hour. Dazzling moonlight shone through the high windows as they passed, thick glowing strips passing through the glass and spilling onto the stone floor below. Stars twinkled in the sky, and miles and miles underneath the unblemished snow twinkled back. The night was, for the most part, clear and unclouded; Harry found himself praying none of the Aurors were spotted on their venture to Hogwarts but knew he was only worrying in vain. The Aurors were more skilled at stealth than anyone.

Finally, after having ascended countless stone steps, the trio arrived at the top of the Astronomy tower. The night air hit them with a blast of surprise the moment they stepped outside, causing them all to shiver simultaneously. None of them had bothered wearing a cloak and instead were forced to endure the bitter, wintry cold. Anyway, Harry reminded himself, it would have been painfully suspicious if they had shown up at the Christmas feast decked out in heavy, bulky shrouds.

"Where are they?" Ron asked, the chattering of his teeth punctuating his sentence.

"On their way, I reckon," Harry replied. He too was having trouble keeping his jaw steady. "It's a clear night, we'll see them coming."

He, Hermione, and Ron sunk onto the chilled roof, their backs resting against the wall of the tower. Unable to form any worthwhile conversation, instead they wallowed in the silence, allowing their gazes to wander vaguely across the extensive sky. The ground below them appeared to be a vast sea of whiteness, impeded only by the dark line of the Forbidden Forest. In the distance, Harry could make out the glossy surface of the lake, frozen over by the bitter temperatures. Footprints and various cracks were visible across it, apparently from either students who had long since gone home or rather daring professors. Not far from the lake, he noticed several large mounds of snow with long and deep tracks surrounding them. He was on the verge of asking Ron who won their afternoon snowball fight, just to pass the time by making conversation, when his intentions were disrupted by an intake of breath to his left.

"Look, I think that's them!" Hermione gasped, rising from her sitting position and pointing.

Harry followed her finger and, sure enough, several small dots had appeared on the horizon. They grew closer and closer with each passing second, going from mere specks to ants to raisins to rocks. Eventually, nine fully-grown wizards were hovering on broomsticks just feet from the roof of the tower. The trio took several steps backward to allow for their landing; multiple soft _thuds_ sounded, and then all was silent again.

"Blimey, it's cold out tonight," remarked a very stiff-looking Tonks, who had touched down first. She shook snow out of her short, choppy mauve hair, before turning to Harry and the others with a grin. "Wotcher, Harry. Ron, Hermione," she added, nodding her head in turn.

"Did everything go all right?" Harry asked at once, addressing the group at large. "The Ministry didn't ask any odd questions? You weren't seen?"

"There was a bloke looking up when we were just outside London," said Mad-Eye Moody in his low growl, brushing off his robes. His normal eye was focused on Harry while his magical one swirled wildly in its socket, taking in the sky, the grounds, and the assembled cluster of Aurors. "Probably thought we were nothing more than a few blinking stars, though. I wouldn't worry."

"And no, the Ministry doesn't suspect," added Romina Celestino. "The Aurors who remained behind have an explanation for our absence if anyone does pry, of course. But we aren't willing to take any drastic chances, so I'd say we have about an hour, at the least."

"Where are we doing this thing?" said Brom Lysander loudly. From the look on his face, it was clearly evident he believed he had better things to be doing with his time, though Harry strongly doubted it.

"I've found us a room where we won't be disturbed. I'm positive," Harry stressed upon seeing the look on Moody's face. "You can put whichever charms and locks on it you want, but it won't matter, there's nobody here at Hogwarts to interrupt us, anyway."

Moody muttered something inaudible into his right shoulder.

"Well, let's get a move on," Romina said brusquely. "I'm in no mind to stand out here and freeze my arse off. Harry, you lead the way, then."

Harry nodded and turned on his heel, his robes swishing behind him, and began to descend down the stairs of the Astronomy tower. Eleven witches and wizards followed him, nine of whom were still shivering, shaking snow off their clothes, and clutching broomsticks, all being especially hushed and surreptitious so as to not attract attention.

The corridors of Hogwarts were unusually quiet and still, save for the muted clicks from different pairs of shoes. Torches were lit along the passageways, illuminating various cold, anxious, and excited faces of the group. Every now and then they passed a dozing portrait; thankfully, none of the paintings felt the need to call out to the Aurors, even though Harry had a sneaking suspicion an eye or two was cracked open as they passed.

In what seemed like no time at all, the large group had arrived outside a gray, stone door on the fifth floor, not far from an ancient statue of a gruesome three-eyed goblin. On any normal occasion, one would easily pass by this door without a second thought, as it blended into the wall so well. Upon further investigation, however, there were indeed several cracks visible in the wall that formed the shape of a door. No knob appeared to be present.

"Is this it?" asked Tonks in a hushed voice. Harry nodded.

"We'd better hurry in, I think I heard something," Hermione whispered, casting a wary eye down the deserted corridor. "It could've just been that portrait of the giant snoring, but –"

Harry stepped forward and pushed on the door in the place where a handle should have been. As he had hoped, the door swung open in one swift movement, allowing for their entrance. He stood back as the Aurors, Ron, and Hermione hastened over the threshold and into the room; he glanced up and down the hall once more before following.

The comfortably-sized rectangular room appeared quite ordinary. There were no windows, and several torches hung at intervals around the room, casting a dim and flickering light across the large, gleaming table in the center. Chairs were arranged around the table and Harry realized with a slight twinge of surprise, upon counting, there were exactly twelve. He took a seat in a hard-backed chair alongside Steven Burns and Kingsley Shacklebolt as the rest of the group silently fell into place as well, their various conversations fading and their anxious expressions all intensifying.

"Well, Potter," barked Moody, a serious air about him as he stared at Harry. "Here we are, assembled at Hogwarts, holding an unlawful Auror meeting against the Ministry's knowledge while under the impression that you have stumbled across new and imperative information. We have, as Celestino said, roughly an hour to sort this out. Start talking."

"Last night, I – or actually, Hermione, she's the one who overheard all this and without her you wouldn't be here," Harry began (he shot an appreciative look at Hermione, who was seated across the table from him next to Tonks), "– we were both at the Rogue Chimaera down in Hogsmeade when she accidentally eavesdropped on two Death Eaters' conversation."

From there, Harry took off, re-telling the tale that had been bottled up inside him all day. At various points, he allowed Hermione to take over and do the explaining, as she was the one who had heard it directly. The Aurors all listened raptly, some ingesting the new information with pleasure, their voracious thirst for a new lead finally quenched. Others looked positively alarmed, horrified, even, at the prospect of Bellatrix Lestrange having such a well-formed scheme involving the Hogwarts students. Harry and Hermione were both sure to alter the account very slightly to avoid letting slip how Hermione had exactly arrived at the bar in the first place and her state at the time, and for this, Harry knew she was grateful.

Ron, who hadn't heard the whole story yet, was hanging onto their every word with such bulging eyes that Harry was sure they would fall out and roll along the table at any moment. Moody was listening with his brow furrowed and his magical eye, for once, focused forward on whoever was speaking. Tonks and Romina bore identical expressions of alarm, evidently not bothering to close their mouths, which were now gaping so wide they nearly touched the table. Even Brom, who, at the commencement of the explanation, was sure to emit long-suffering sighs at precisely the wrong intervals, was even sitting a bit straighter, his attention on Harry or Hermione. The rest of the group were all concentrating deeply without interrupting, and Harry could nearly see the wheels turning in their heads as they comprehended the information he was feeding them.

When the story was finally relayed to the Aurors (Hermione had wrapped it up, her voice trembling ever so slightly as she did so), Harry's gaze was met with ten startled and incredulous ones, as he had expected. No one spoke for several agonizing seconds. Then, naturally, Moody broke the stillness.

"And you're sure about all this, Potter?"

"Hermione's the one who heard it," he said simply. "I believe her."

This was met with more silence.

"I was there," Grey Deckers said, his husky voice sounding strange against the previous lull. "Dominic and I both were. That village they mentioned, the Muggle one that was torched out in Croatia, we came across it just after daybreak last week."

"Judging from their preceding activity in Greece," cut in Dominic, "we concluded that they were indeed moving in the northwest direction. This time, they hadn't done such a brilliant job of clearing their tracks, so we had several men tail them for a few days. We've nearly lost the lead by now, though."

"It _did_ seem a bit bizarre," said Grey, staring vaguely at a blank spot halfway across the table. "We weren't even sure it was the work of Lestrange at first. But if she was just getting frustrated, it makes sense now…"

"Wait a minute," exclaimed Brom, who seemed to have snapped out of his uncharacteristically mature trance. He rounded on Hermione. "You were five feet from two raving lunatics serving Bellatrix Lestrange and didn't even _bother_ to contact the authorities?"

"She was -" Harry was about to end his sentence in "drunk" but caught himself just in time. He realized that, from his and Hermione's scarcely twisted version of the story, it seemed as if contacting the Ministry had merely slipped their minds. He knew there was no way, due to Hermione's condition, they would have been able to catch the men, and truthfully had not thought about how helpful it would have proved to be to the situation. Clearly, Brom Lysander had.

"We didn't realize who they were at first," he invented quickly, carefully avoiding Hermione's eyes. "Don't you think we would have detained them if we understood who they were? And I thought you were supposed to be bright, Lysander."

"It doesn't matter now, they're gone," said Moody, waving one hand impatiently. "What matters is that we make use of the information we now have. One thing that does concern me, Potter, is our records book. Am I right in understanding you _lost_ it?"

There was a collective muttering around the table. Harry grimaced; he had successfully managed to dance around this subject up until now. The day he realized it was gone, McGonagall advised him to send an owl to the Aurors immediately informing them of its nonappearance. He had managed to both forget and procrastinate, wanting to avoid the outrage that he knew he would meet eventually.

"He didn't lose it, Mad-Eye," Tonks said. "Lestrange _stole_ it. You can't blame Harry for that. And if anyone else other than him had been watching it, we would've lost it months ago."

Harry immediately felt a warm rush of gratitude towards Tonks.

Moody seemed unsatisfied with this but grunted nonetheless, his magical eye rolling upward in its socket. "All the same, it's gone, as is a tangible copy of most of our information. And now Lestrange can consult it whenever she wants, all the data we've retrieved written in plain English for her pleasure."

"There's no use in mourning over it, Alastor," said Kingsley in his deep, booming voice. "It certainly doesn't help us any that she is in possession of it, but everything important is already stored away in our brains. We'll have to cope with Lestrange being fully aware of our knowledge now."

"So let me get this straight," said Ron. His face too was screwed up in thought as he attempted to sort out everything Harry and Hermione had reported. "Lestrange is controlling the Hogwarts students, assuming that the Ministry will become involved and focus their attention on their peculiar behavior –"

"The Ministry _is_ involved, Ron," Hermione reminded him.

"– so that then she can surprise them and move on to controlling Ministry members and, eventually, Dempsey? Because she wants to be the Ministress of Magic? What the bloody hell is she _playing_ at?"

"I _knew_ there was a reason the Death Eaters didn't care about being sighted," mused Romina. Her eyes were round and full of sudden understanding, but on her face apprehension was still visible. "Didn't you think it was odd, Alastor? So she _wants_ us to know they're back."

"That's part of her plan," Harry interjected, having been silent himself for several minutes. "This'll completely catch the wizarding world off guard and throw it into pandemonium. I think she's branching off Voldemort's idea when he returned, actually. Everyone's been thinking they're finally safe for six years, so reappearing now would be flawless."

"Yeah, that makes sense," remarked Steven Burns, who had not, until now, uttered a single word throughout the whole discussion, which was quite a feat for him. "The Ministry's so bloody unorganized _now_, imagine what a right state they'll be in when a couple dozen Death Eaters and a woman they all presumed to be dead pop up again."

"They already have, Burns," growled Moody. His magical eye rolled sickeningly toward the man across the table. "Haven't you been listening over there? The _Daily Prophet_'s been reporting various alleged sightings for the past couple weeks, and I suspect any day now it'll be headline news announcing their return for good. Anyone who actually reads the _Prophet_ is probably already convinced, though."

"I'm only saying –" began Burns, but he was immediately interrupted by Hermione.

"_Gnomi Elencho_… that sounds familiar," she murmured loud enough for the table to hear. "I know I've heard that before. I'm almost sure I read it in a book somewhere."

"She's read everything in a book _somewhere_," Ron whispered crossly to Dominic McAllister.

"No, she's right," agreed Romina. A contemplative, almost ethereal look crossed her face. "I've heard that term before too. I think I recall reading about it in a book… perhaps in the Ministry library, I'm not sure. I think it might be Latin, or maybe Greek."

"Well, seeing as nobody at this table is a fluent Latin or Greek translator," said Brom (his feet were now propped up on the table, much to Tonks's disgust, who had the pleasure of facing them), "who cares?"

"Then I'd suggest taking a language class," Moody snapped. "We'll sign you up first, Lysander. This book, whatever the hell it's about, is news to us. That explains what they were up to out in Eastern Europe, at least. If Lestrange is too busy concentrating on this book to do the dirty work of her Death Eaters, it has to be something significant."

"I'll search the library, Alastor," offered Romina. "I'm almost positive I read something about it there…"

"I have a friend in Wales whose family is Greek," said Basil Hardy helpfully. His harsh, gravelly voice was a new addition to the discussion, as he too had kept his tongue thus far. "I don't know anything about Latin, but I know they're still speaking the Greek language."

"Good," growled Mad-Eye. "You two get to work on that. The final thing I'd like to address that still seems vague to me is this witch Consuelos and Anthony kept mentioning. Any ideas, Potter?"

"I'm not sure, sir," said Harry, narrowing his eyes in deep contemplation.

"The one man said he was stuck here corresponding with her," Hermione spoke up when Harry seemed at a loss for an explanation, "whoever 'her' is. So that means that one of the Death Eaters is still around somewhere, probably relaying information to this mysterious person from Bellatrix Lestrange herself."

"And Consuelos said that they're working through someone very gifted and reliable this time," Harry said quickly, Hermione's words from earlier that morning coming back to him. "I think he's talking about the same person."

"Most likely," muttered Moody. He glanced down at his enchanted watch and tapped its face.

"Right, well, I think our time's about up," Tonks said in a would-be cheerful voice. She forced a smile onto her face as she pushed back her chair and stood, the other eight Aurors following suit. "Thanks again Harry, Hermione. We've certainly got quite a few more things to mull over now, and perhaps we can make head or tail of a fresh lead."

Brom Lysander scoffed, pushing past Grey Deckers and Kingsley towards the door and feigning relief that the meeting was over, only he moved slightly too quickly to convince anyone that the hour had been a total waste of his time.

"If you wander into any more nightclubs and run into Death Eaters, don't hesitate to owl us," added Romina with a somnolent nod in Hermione's direction. "But seriously, keep an eye out, Harry. You two better as well. If Lestrange is really using Hogwarts for her own benefits, we'll need all three of you on your guard."

The rest of the Aurors all bade their goodbyes, attempting to smooth out the situation with jovial grins and holiday wishes, though nobody could truly be fooled into thinking the circumstances were anything less than perilous. Soon, the room emptied one-by-one as the wizards, Tonks, and Romina ducked out of the room, glanced nervously up and down the corridor, then disappeared from sight.

When Hermione and Ron had their backs turned, helping usher the Aurors out of the room, Moody leaned down next to Harry (who was still seated in his chair, finding it rather hard to move) so that his mouth was but an inch from Harry's ear.

"Potter," he whispered urgently. "The direction Lestrange is moving, do you know which way it is?"

"Er – northwestern?" Harry answered, taken aback by Moody's sudden question and, truthfully, his unexpected presence beside his ear.

"And do you know why it's northwestern?"

"Not particularly," said Harry, watching Ron push a babbling Steven Burns forcefully out the door.

"Think about it, Potter. Think about what Consuelos and Anthony said. Lestrange is taking a risk carrying out her plans in front of you, Weasley, and Granger. She knew you three would interfere. And now the only thing standing in her way of achieving absolute control over the Hogwarts students is…"

"Me, Ron, and Hermione," Harry finished. He was able to perfectly recall the two men's conversation concerning himself and the others and was beginning to wonder why Moody was wasting time reviewing the topic. And what did it matter, anyway?

"Potter," Moody said impatiently. He was nearly the last remaining Auror in the room, as Basil Hardy had just disappeared into the corridor and Ron was finally separating himself from Burns. "Listen to me. Bellatrix Lestrange isn't moving northwestern just because she feels like it, understand? There's a reason, boy. She's coming after _you_."


	23. Dueling With Braedon

**Author's Notes:** I'm not one to complain or anything like that, but I would like to express some concern. I've noticed that I'm receiving less and less reviews (also, I am not trying to sound selfish, egotistical, etc.) with each chapter. This is somewhat disappointing and often discourages me from updating with the next chapter. To keep this story going, I _really_ need the input of my readers so I can tell if there are aspects of this fic that need changing, things I need to clarify, and so on. Is my story really that bad that less and less people are reading?Reviews mean so much to the authors, whether they're incredibly short or long, and are essentially what keeps an author writing (apart from their pure passion for the art, that is). I quite like where my story is going, but that means nothing if my readers don't.

So! Sorry about the depressing introduction. It was just bothering me this morning and I thought I'd address it. Of course, I'm probably just being selfish, maybe all my readers are on vacation or their computers crashed (though I sure hope not). Like I said before, I highly doubt I'll be able to finish this before next Saturday, but I _will_ finish this story for once. I promise. I like it too much to abandon it, and I can't even begin to wonder how many hours I've worked on it.

I thought I'd spend a little time getting back to you all on the few questions I've received, because answering your questions just makes me feel so important. )

**Heather:** Sorry, but this story is not and will not be Harry/Hermione. I know it might've seemed that way at a few points, especially since they spend so much time together, but they really are just friends.

**silentmaniac:** Maybe Harry likes Bella, maybe he doesn't. If you read the story closely, I think you'll be able to figure it out yourself.

**fairymargarita:** First of all, I absolutely love your name. Second, thank you so much for your wonderful review. I'm so glad to hear that you're coming online "every five seconds" to see if I've updated, but please, don't waste your time. I update usually around every ten days or so. But I am very happy to hear that you are so hooked onto this story, and when I receieved your review, it completely made my day.

**Jexi:** As I said to Heather, sorry, no Harry/Hermione.

**holimontski:** I was a bit confused by your review. Do you mean that you had already figured out Lestrange was after Harry & co.? I am sure I hadn't introduced that in the story beforehand; did I make it too obvious or something? Hmm.

And I _know_ that I said this story was Ron/Hermione, and I know I've said this a hundred times. It is. Just be patient. I have no idea how long this fic is going to end up being. I apologize for the lack of general Ron-ness, so maybe this chapter and ones to come will make up for it. )

One last note - I have no idea if I have any British readers, but if so, then I do hope you, your families, and friends are all safe. I'd like to express my deepest condolences about the bombings this morning in London and will be keeping your entire country in my prayers.

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**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: DUELING WITH BRAEDON**

"What do you _mean_ you left _Intermediate Transfiguration_ in your bedroom!"

"Well, it's so dull that I guess I just _forgot_ to take it out from under my bed," responded Theodore Lloyd with a satisfied smirk. "Besides, otherwise, I wouldn't have had room in my trunk for my new bag of dungbombs."

"Are you telling me you _chose_ not to bring it back?"

"Yes. Everyone knows dungbombs are more important than Transfiguration."

"Then how, Mr. Lloyd, do you presume to continue in this class without your textbook?"

Theodore feigned a look of deep consideration for a moment, clearly enjoying the snickers and giggles he was attracting from his classmates. "Hm. That thought honestly hadn't crossed my mind, professor."

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor," snapped a peeved Professor Granger. The fourth-year Gryffindors all groaned loudly at this; even Theo Lloyd's smirk slipped and faded slightly from his face. He glared at Hermione and sunk into his seat, mumbling something unquestionably cynical under his breath.

"Right, well, for those of you who _did _bother to bring back the appropriate textbooks, please turn to page two hundred ninety-seven and silently read the introduction to partial transformation. You have roughly ten minutes."

There was a ruffling of pages throughout the classroom as the students all disjointedly searched for the assignment and, within minutes, had engrossed themselves in the text (though it was quite obvious nearly half were daydreaming rather than reading). Hermione heaved a great sigh and settled herself behind her desk, yearning for the final bell to ring and signal the end of her work day.

Much to the entire staff's disappointment, the holidays had concluded and Hogwarts was once again home to its students. Beginning the night before, the corridors were no longer vacant and eerily still but now full of hundreds of youths hurrying to their next lesson, retelling tales from their Christmas vacations, or skipping class altogether (which, of course, was highly frowned upon). Hermione found that she preferred busy Hogwarts to empty Hogwarts; with the school so occupied, she had less time to dwell on her own thoughts and the dark, ominous problems she was facing.

But however much she forbade her mind to, it kept persistently dwelling on certain dismal feelings, especially ones connected with the Auror meeting she had attended many days ago on Christmas night. The tense atmospheres that had surrounded the Aurors and their expressions haunted Hermione; their unease and panic alarmed her. If the most prestigious Dark wizard catchers of the country – of the continent, even – were so distressed, then the situation was clearly one to take seriously, which she had naturally never doubted in the least. Seeing the Aurors finally coming to realize the severity, however, finalized everything, making it all seem so much more realistic than she had believed. On numerous occasions, Hermione had found herself wondering if perhaps it wasn't all just a dream, a crazy hallucination of her mind, but she finally knew it indisputably wasn't. It was existent. And now, everything seemed to be magnified a hundred times; their limited time was real, the people involved were real, and, the most frightening of all: the danger was real. The peril Hermione had been aware of since she was acquainted with the knowledge of Bellatrix Lestrange's resurrection seemed no longer to be dreamlike and intangible. In just a short time, she had come to comprehend how the lives of everyone surrounding her were at stake and could so easily be snatched away by the ruthless Death Eaters and their even more merciless leader.

"Professor," came a sudden tentative voice from the front row. "There's this word here – it says – well, I don't know what it _means_, could you maybe –?"

Hermione waved her wand and a thick, black dictionary flew off one of the bookshelves at the back of the room. It traveled the length of the classroom, weaving between people's bodies, and landed with a resounding _thud_ on the desk of a dark-haired Ravenclaw boy, who was glancing from the book to Hermione with round, uncertain eyes. He was silent for a minute, as if unsure of what to do with the bulky volume.

"That's a dictionary," Hermione explained irritably. "Feel free to look up the word yourself. For future reference, I am _not_ a human dictionary –"

Several students chuckled as if daring to contradict their professor.

"– and if anyone else has any urges to research definitions, authentic ones are located at the back of the classroom."

The class all gave Hermione concerned, if not fearful, stares, then slowly returned their gazes to the assigned passage (or, in the case of some students, returned their gazes to the ceiling, which made it blatantly obvious they had no intentions of reading). Hermione was too exhausted and aggravated to conceal her emotions, and was quite aware that her class had noticed. However, no one dared to ask the professor if she was feeling quite all right in fear of getting their heads bitten off.

Another point Hermione was very well aware of now was that someone close to Hogwarts was definitely intricately connected with Bellatrix Lestrange; they were also, most likely, a Death Eater. She shivered at the thought. This person could be watching over them when they least suspected it, listening in on their private conversations and reporting their findings to Lestrange herself. This person was possibly responsible for the death of Irene Farnsworth and associated with the unfortunate frivolities of Hogwarts. This intangible presence, as mysterious as it was, also happened to be the center of all turmoil Hermione was focused on, whether she was aware of it or not. She felt an abrupt and inexplicable twinge of hatred towards the person she could not name but had spent so much time dwelling on. Quite uncharacteristically, she wished she could hunt them down and bestow upon them all the rage and fear swirling about her brain; at the very least, they deserved the same fate as Irene. _That insolent, ruthless, disgusting excuse for a wizard_, she silently seethed, clutching her quill tightly in her grip. _If I could just get my hands on them, they'd be sorry they ever so much as stepped inside the Hogwarts grounds, the wretched piece of _–

Hermione let out a startled yelp as the quill in her hand promptly snapped in two. She jerked her arm sideways and her elbow came in contact with a bottle of ink, which immediately flew across the desk, splattering the woodwork and Hermione herself in a dark, cold substance. The class all looked up simultaneously, thankful for yet another interruption, and stared bewildered at their professor; clearly they were thinking Hermione was finally falling apart.

As if on cue, the bell chose that exact moment to ring. The reverberating noise was punctured only by the sounds of students scraping back their chairs, mercilessly stuffing their books into their bags, as they began chattering amongst themselves in an end-of-the-school-day liberation.

"No homework tonight," Hermione called out shakily atop the various conversations. "Just, er, just come to class tomorrow prepared to discuss partial transformation – oh, Mr. Lloyd, make sure you stop by the library to pick up a temporary copy of your textbook, and _please_ don't be careless enough to displace this one."

"Will do, professor," Theo said with a wink as he slipped out the door and into the bustling hallway beyond. Other students, however, were less cheerful and passed by Hermione wearing looks of disquiet, some perhaps on the brink of actually questioning their disheveled professor. All seemed to reconsider, to Hermione's immense relief. She was in no mood to explain to probing students the contents of her mind.

When the last of the students had filed from her classroom, she gathered up a stack of quizzes in dire need of grading and rummaged around in her desk drawer for another quill. The damaged pieces of the last one were strewn across the table's surface amidst the shining ink, which was quickly being absorbed into the wood. Her arms laden with papers, Hermione made to exit her classroom but finally came to her senses at the last moment and swung around once more, pointing her wand at her desk.

"_Scourgify_."

The remains of the quill vanished into thin air, as did the ink stains. A few piles of papers that had been knocked over during Hermione's clumsiness restacked themselves neatly, making the desk look as organized as it usually was. With a grim smile of satisfaction, Hermione turned on her heel and departed from her classroom into the virtually empty hallway beyond.

She silently made her way up staircases and through Hogwarts corridors, encountering nearly no one, as most students were lounging in their common rooms before dinner commenced. Finally, she came to a halt outside a large oak door that led to none other than the sanctuary of the staff room. With an unexpected wave of relief that classes had indeed terminated for the day, she entered.

A warm and comfortable atmosphere immediately engulfed the drained Transfiguration professor. Most of the armchairs scattered about the room were occupied by other exhausted teachers, gulping down large mugs of coffee in feeble attempts at rejuvenation, and thoroughly immersed in warmhearted conversations with one another. Hermione suddenly felt very affectionate towards the bustling staff room; here, she knew none of her co-workers would interrogate her on her petulant demeanor or dour expression. They had all gotten used to her new, unexpected bouts of depression and her lapses into deep thought over the past fortnight. Though Harry and Ron were the only two sincerely aware of the reason for her behavior, most of the staff dismissed it as stresses of a new teacher headed into her second term. They all, thankfully, were sensible enough to let Hermione be in times like these (but she was convinced it was more out of fear than consideration, as she had threatened to jinx a co-worker on more than one occasion out of pure irritation).

Oddly, Desdemona and Bella were nowhere to be seen, so Hermione made her way towards the fireplace where Ginny was seated with Harry and Ron. It was quite clear to her that the latter two were forcefully grinning and letting out faux shouts of laughter at whatever Ginny was conversing about, mostly for her benefit. Hermione was not as skilled as them when it came to concealing true emotions; she found it was much easier and satisfying to snap at any who dared to annoy her instead of convincingly acting false.

Before Hermione had properly approached the trio, she noticed a hesitation in the conversation and heard Ron distantly mention to Harry about having to finish a report for the Department of Mysteries. He had disappeared up the staircase without so much as a glance back to anyone, even her, when Hermione reached the backside of Ginny's armchair, vaguely looking after him. But even this obvious act of avoidance was not enough to concern her or manipulate her thoughts; instead, she greeted Harry and Ginny with a painful smile as fake as possible, and seated herself in Ron's recently-abandoned chair. She momentarily made eye contact with Harry, whose expression quickly changed to one bearing concern, but she looked away before he could make any comments. No words had to be passed between the two for Harry to understand what was on her mind.

"Have you any idea where Des or Bella are?" Ginny asked, craning her neck to look across the room as if expecting them to Apparate in at any moment.

"Haven't seen them," said Hermione truthfully. "Perhaps they had work to finish up? I know I should start grading these" – she gestured towards the stack of papers, which had begun wobbling, in her arms – "but I just can't work up any incentive."

"It's only the first day back, Hermione," Harry said with a faint smirk. "You're allowed to let yourself breathe, you know."

"I _can_ breathe, thank you. I don't have a quill that can grade itself, though I wish I did. It probably wouldn't be very accurate, anyway, so I suppose I'll just end up doing these later, I _did_ promise my sixth-years I'd have them back by tomorrow at least, and I'd feel just horrible if –"

What Hermione would feel just horrible about none of them ever discovered, for at that moment, the door burst open once again and two people spilled into the room, quickly attracting the attention of the whole staff. The missing Bella and Desdemona seemed to have finally appeared.

Though it wasn't a Bella or a Desdemona Hermione had ever seen before; on the contrary, they were quite unrecognizable, and she wasn't sure she would have recognized them at _all_ if it hadn't been for their distinct robes and hair. They were both huffing and apparently either out of breath or very peeved, perhaps even both; their faces, however, were covered from left to right in large, purple boils, quite unlike any Hermione had ever known to even exist. The room winced in unison – these boils looked rather painful and cumbersome to have spread across one's face as casually as butter (though they did not resemble butter in the very least, which might have been much less agonizing).

Desdemona gave one fierce glare around the room and all heads bowed once more, busying themselves in anything to escape from her glowering temper. She let loose a low, rumbling growl and traveled over to where Ginny, Hermione, and Harry were seated, still gawking at her; she fell brutally into a nearby armchair, soon to be followed by an equally angry Bella.

"Des," Ginny breathed, clearly choosing her words very wisely. Her bulging eyes moved from Desdemona to Bella and back to Desdemona again. "What hap – what _is_ that?"

"What does it _look_ like?" retorted the infuriated Potions Mistress, growling for a second time.

"There was another, erm – well, an incident," explained Bella, who appeared to be slightly calmer than Desdemona, as she was able to form lucid sentences without letting lose unbecoming snarls.

"What?" Harry asked sharply. Hermione turned to look at him; behind the enchanted, almost mesmerized look in his eyes as he peered at Bella, she could distinguish apprehension, the kind of apprehension that was stimulated only during discussions concerning the dark proceedings of the Death Eaters.

Ginny gaped at her. "You don't mean –"

Bella nodded solemnly. "Desdemona was in the dungeons finishing her last class of the day – double Potions, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff – when, well, things… got out of hand."

"Don't make it sound so _jolly_," grumbled Desdemona, swinging her head around to frown at Bella. She immediately looked as if she wished she could retract the movement; she screwed her face up and grimaced, gingerly touching her hand to her boil-covered cheek.

"Something happened?" Hermione asked urgently.

"Yeah, something happened all right," Desdemona spat. "I was just assigning homework and had asked the third-years to bring up samples of their Tempting Tonic, nothing out of the ordinary there. One Hufflepuff boy was having trouble ladling a sample into his flask, he clearly brewed his wrong, it was simple enough but was _not_ supposed to emit fireworks. Anyway, it slipped my mind that there's a Quidditch match coming up, you know, so I assigned a bit too much homework for their bloody liking. And what do they do? They _hex_ me."

There was a short silence amongst the group as this unsettling information was absorbed. Then Harry asked, "When you say they, you don't mean –?"

"The whole class, yes, Harry," snapped Desdemona. "I turned my back for one moment and when the bell rang, I was bidding them good-bye and I realized none of my students had left. They were all facing me, their wands pointed at me like they actually knew what they were _doing_. One girl closest to me, a Ravenclaw who has never pointed her wand at _anyone_, to my knowledge, had this sort of… blank, manic gleam in her eyes. Like she was actually enjoying threatening a professor."

"Luckily, I was just passing by the classroom," said Bella, as Desdemona cut off to glare at Professor Flitwick, who saw her face and evidently decided wisely to take a detour around a grouping of desks, "and, well, twenty-some third-years all pointing their wands at a professor is never something to ignore. They got us quite well, though, as you can see." She gestured at her own face, flinching slightly as she did so and murmuring a soft "ouch".

"I don't believe this," uttered Hermione. She quickly shared brief eye contact again with Harry, whose brow was deeply furrowed. She knew this event worried him as much as it did her, but unfortunately, they could not discuss it aloud with Bella, Desdemona, and Ginny present.

"So then after Desdemona, er – well, Stunned a few students, just to defend us, of course," Bella explained quickly in defense of gasps from Ginny and Hermione, "the remaining ones began to drop their wands and look around as if they had just woken up from some sort of trance. The damage to us had already been done, though; I imagine a few of them got rather bad shocks from seeing two professors standing before them with such lovely purple faces." She attempted a weak laugh, but nobody else returned it.

"McGonagall came down, the whole situation was explained to her and to the students, who supposedly had no idea what they had just _done_ to us," Desdemona continued. She shook her head as if she couldn't believe it. "They could have blasted off half our faces if I hadn't started Stunning. The ones I did Stun were sent to the Hospital Wing, and the class is going to undergo group analysis, or some rubbish like that."

"What about your –?" Ginny motioned towards Desdemona's marred face.

"If Madam Lucille can't cure us, we'll have to be shipped off to St. Mungo's," said Bella with a sigh. "She said we could suffer from long-term damage, though. Permanent scars or bruising, I think she meant."

Another tense lapse of silence followed the conclusion of Desdemona and Bella's tale. Hermione herself was fighting back the urge to hyperventilate on the spot; there hadn't been any exceptionally odd occurrences for quite some time amongst the students, everyone knew that. And now, upon the initiation of the last half of the school year, two teachers were attacked by a single class. She knew this could not be a coincidence. She also had an awful, gnawing feeling that Bellatrix Lestrange was growing stronger, gaining knowledge, or something of the sort. Her stomach quickly plummeted at the thought and seemed to disintegrate completely; she desperately wished to plunge into discussion with Harry, because surely he was thinking the same thing, but also knew they were currently restricted from doing so.

"Have you notified McGonagall?" Harry asked Bella.

"Of course," she responded, her boils quivering slightly. "She was extremely distressed at the news, to say the least. Poor woman. I do imagine she has enough on her plate as it is."

Harry nodded mutely.

Hermione's attention was diverted from the two purple-faced professors for the first time in minutes when a figure materialized in her peripheral vision at the bottom of the staircase. Ron seemed to have returned and, upon re-entering the staff room, nearly collided with an armchair when he spotted Desdemona and Bella. He looked too mortified to neither speak nor progress towards the huddled group. Harry had noticed Ron's entrance as well; in fact, it actually put him into motion. He immediately stood, attracting glances from the assembled women, and Hermione noticed that, as he spoke, he maintained direct eye contact with Ron. Something unspoken but understood passed between the men and Hermione felt as if, for once, she understood it too.

"I've got to go send a letter," Harry announced. "Good luck, you two, with your – with that," he added to Bella and Desdemona, vaguely waving a hand in the direction of their faces. "I'll talk to you later, Hermione. Ginny."

And with that, he joined Ron across the room and the two wizards quickly departed from the staff's sanctuary, pointedly avoiding sharing gazes with any professors they passed along the way. They didn't speak, which Hermione knew was deliberate; she was also sure of where they were headed. The Aurors at the Ministry would need to be notified of another occurrence instantly.

When she turned her attention back to the other women, she distinctly comprehended that they had moved on to discussing the upcoming Quidditch match. She felt no urge to participate in the conversation; it wasn't that she disliked Quidditch, particularly, because she didn't, but she could hardly expect her mind to focus on anything other than the story she had just heard. During an appropriate moments' silence, she announced her desire to depart early for dinner. Desdemona, Bella, and Ginny all agreed that it was a splendid idea, but Hermione was well out the door and down the corridor before they made any effort to follow her. For this she was thankful, however; she could tell another mood where she only wished to mull over thoughts and ideas was slowly creeping up on her, and during these short bouts where she felt as if she were cut off from the rest of the world, she preferred not to have much human contact.

It was going to be a lengthy, pessimistic dinner.

* * *

Several bitter, wintry weeks passed, showering Hogwarts in multitudes of snow piled so high that outdoor classes were being cancelled on a customary basis. Brave students could be seen through the foggy windows pelting one another with enchanted snowballs on the grounds; some even dared to venture across the frozen lake on contraptions that bore a great resemblance to Muggle skis. These students also would come down with severe frostbite after their adventures outside, and the professors were getting so annoyed that leaving the school was close to being banned altogether. Epidemics such as the flu were also spreading like wildfire, and the Hospital Wing was noticeably more occupied as of late. Of course, there was nothing Madam Lucille couldn't cure in a matter of hours, but Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that some students had taken to prolonging their illnesses in order to skip classes.

Along with regular cancellations of Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, Desdemona and Bella's classes were also delayed for several days while they were transported to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Instead of their boil-ridden faces improving, they only seemed to be exacerbating; the boils had indeed grown larger and were more vivid in color than ever. Hermione found herself wincing whenever she looked at Desdemona or Bella's faces and was slightly relieved when they left to be cured. But with few classes left for students to attend, one of them being Hermione's, the school seemed to be steadily growing rowdier; exams would soon be creeping upon them, and she wasn't entirely sure her fifth-years were even ready for their O.W.L.s. After consulting McGonagall and presenting her worries, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were soon continued in unused classrooms on the ground floor. The students were all very displeased at this and had obviously gotten used to the idea of so few classes; Hermione was careful not to reveal it was her doing that reinstated the classes for fear that any students decided to hex her like they had done her two unfortunate co-workers.

Things around Hogwarts were progressing quite smoothly and to Hermione's liking throughout January. No more unusual activities occurred, or at least to her knowledge. The Aurors had been alerted as to the hexing incident, but other than that, Harry hadn't heard from anyone inside the Ministry in weeks. McGonagall had called her, Harry, and Ron into her office on several occasions to discuss current affairs and always reminded them on their way out to keep their eyes open for any abnormal signs, which, of course, they already knew. It seemed as if new information was now scarce; Hermione was sure Moody and the other Aurors back at headquarters would owl them immediately if anything new was unearthed. They were all still uninformed as to where Lestrange and her Death Eaters were, who her mysterious correspondent was, or how exactly the students of Hogwarts were falling under her power, but Hermione knew stubbornly probing her mind would not cause fresh facts to suddenly pour out. Instead, she found her mood greatly improving as she spent less and less time dwelling on dark thoughts that she truthfully had no control over.

The only irritation Hermione still harbored during the harshest weeks of the winter was directed to none other than Braedon Keleher. Naturally, she was still infuriated about his antics and her behavior at the Rogue Chimaera on the eve of Christmas, and of course resented anyone who attempted to use her for their own pleasure. Luckily, she was not forced to be in contact with this man often. He mostly avoided the staff room on weekends (but she and Harry both knew where he was spending his time, and they did not mind in the very least); during the week, if he was present at all, he usually took to sitting in a secluded corner, looking over diagrams and sketches that could pertain to nothing except Quidditch. At meals, Hermione was sure to sit as far away from him as possible, but this was perhaps pointless. Braedon showed no interest in speaking to Hermione or even acknowledging the fact that she was a living, breathing person. The only time she had actually heard Keleher speak was at a Quidditch match mid-month between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Bella often did the commenting for him, as he himself was usually smashed beyond being able to form coherent sentences, but as she was hospitalized along with Desdemona, this was impossible.

In fact, Hermione was actually slowly coming to put behind her the events in the Rogue Chimaera. She was indeed dwelling upon the said night less and less and concentrating on preparing her students properly for their approaching exams in June. It wasn't until one afternoon towards the end of January on a Hogsmeade weekend that the subject resurfaced one final time.

The staff room was lively and bursting with professors basking in the laziness of the weekend. Most of the school, except for the younger students who were prohibited, had traveled to Hogsmeade for the day along with chaperones Josie Hacklebush and Professor Sprout. Hermione was enjoying a comfortable fireside chat with Ginny, the papers she had been grading lying forgotten at her side. Ginny was excitedly informing Hermione on how the Venomous Doxies, a loud and vibrant musical group that had recently risen to fame and gained many obsessed fans across the country, were performing in a nearby town at the beginning of the summer. Bill, her eldest and favorite brother, had secured exclusive tickets for her and Ginny was completely ecstatic. Hermione listened and nodded at appropriate intervals, completely unaware at the time as to whom the Venomous Doxies were or what Ginny was talking about at all.

Suddenly, there came a crashing noise from across the room. Along with most of the staff, Hermione looked up to find Ron appear, yet again, at the foot of the staircase. She vaguely wondered why he spent so much of his time holed up in his room – he was very rarely ever seen in the staff room, at any rate. Ron stared wildly around, his eyes alive with evident anger, and his gaze finally came to rest on something in a far corner. Craning her neck, Hermione realized he was glaring daggers at Braedon Keleher, who was innocently absorbed in a large volume with a title referring to advanced Quidditch arrangements. The infuriated Weasley marched across the room with all eyes following him, came to a stop directly in front of Braedon, and jabbed him roughly in the chest.

Hermione was utterly confused, watching what obviously soon became a heated argument from her position by the fireplace with Ginny. She barely even noticed Harry appear by the stairs, looking forlornly at Ron, who had just snatched up Braedon's book and threw it across the room, narrowly missing a frightened Professor Yang.

"What's Ron doing?" Harry asked, arriving behind Ginny's armchair.

"He came running into the room and just started going off on Keleher," said Ginny. "I think he's gone mad, personally. It's about time. I've always wanted a go at Braedon myself, ever since he started here, but it looks like Ron got to him first –"

But Hermione wasn't listening to Ginny. She was watching Harry's expression carefully, something dawning on her as she did so. He looked all too innocent to be convincing, but behind the facade, Hermione could sense he was gazing at the argument with a sort of pained grimace and looked as if he had done something he now deeply regretted.

"Harry," she began slowly, assuming a mocking tone. "Have you any idea what's gotten into Ron?"

He turned to look at her, apology written all over his face. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I guess I – I accidentally let slip what happened on Christmas Eve, in the club with Keleher and all – _don't_ look at me what way, I didn't mean to!"

Hermione planned to fix Harry with a very angry glower but was distracted when Ron's loud and vehement voice carried across the room to where she and the others were seated.

"All right, Keleher!" he yelled, retreating several steps to allow the apparently startled Flying professor to stand. "You and me, outside, _now_!"

"I, well – yes, of course, mate, but clearly you have no idea what you're going up against," muttered Braedon. He smoothed over his worry in a flash, plastering a sickening smirk across his flawless face and running a hand distractedly through his hair. Ron growled not unlike Desdemona had done the day she and Bella were attacked and whipped around, headed for the door. He ignored whispered comments and astonished stares from the other professors and was especially careful, it seemed, not to look at Hermione or Harry. In a matter of moments, he and Braedon had both disappeared from the staff room, the door shutting behind them with a small _snap_. Suddenly, the room seemed all too quiet compared to the previous animated dispute.

"Surely you don't think he's going to –?" began Ginny. Her mouth hung open in surprise.

"I think that's _exactly_ what he's going to do," said Harry grimly. Hermione scowled at him; if Ron engaged in a physical fight with Keleher, it was his entire fault, and she would never be able to forgive him for that.

Abruptly, chairs all around the room squeaked as their owners pushed them back and darted towards the two windows against the back wall. Hermione, Ginny, and Harry all followed, Harry pushing past other eager professors in order to get a clear view out the window. Within a minute, two dark-robed figures, one with vivid red hair and another with blonde, had appeared amidst the dazzling serenity of the pallid snow. They marched out several yards until they were positioned in the very middle of the grounds just below the windows, two mere specks against the vast sheet of whiteness. Then they both halted suddenly and turned to face one another.

Ron seemed to be speaking with noticeable less fervor than he had back up in the staff room. Whatever he was saying to Braedon was not discernable, as far as anyone gazing out the window could tell. Hermione felt a panic sneaking up on her; she knew Ron was hot-headed, but was he _really _hot-headed enough to have a full-out brawl with another professor on the Hogwarts grounds? She was thankful most of the students were out at Hogsmeade, but that hardly eased her worry. McGonagall would absolutely slaughter Ron if she ever found out about this.

Braedon was now speaking too, gesturing with his hands and, from what Hermione could see, still grinning as if everything was one, huge joke. He placed a palm on Ron's shoulder and gave him an odd sort of pat on the back. Then, seemingly, he turned around and began making his way towards the castle doors.

But in one swift movement, Ron had drawn his wand and pointed it at the back of his retreating opponent; his mouth opened wide and a bright flash of light illuminated the staff room. The spell hit Keleher unexpectedly and he was thrown off his feet, doing several flips in the air, and then landing sickeningly ten feet from Ron. There were collective gasps around the room and Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. She glanced sideways at Harry and could see that his expression was now more pained than ever.

Once Keleher finally regained his strength, he stood to face Ron, all traces of merriment gone from his youthful face. He shot out his wand towards Ron and yelled something inexplicable but Ron, with his amazing reflexes, immediately put up a shield around him, causing the spell to merely bounce away harmlessly. Another hex sent Ron's away caused the shield to flicker and then die, leaving him completely unguarded. He fell to the ground and rolled, dodging yet another line of light, and thrust his own wand forward, yelling again. The whole scene was momentarily elucidated in stunning blue radiance and when it cleared, Braedon could be seen hanging upside down from an invisible source. Several professors around Hermione cheered and laughed at this, but she only frowned. As much as she despised Braedon, she would feel downright terrible if he was badly hurt.

Then, in a movement that shocked the entire room of professors watching behind the two windows, Keleher swung his legs forward, flipped, and landed with rather good posture in the snow. Ron was apparently caught off guard and had no time to shield or duck when a fourth spell was produced from his challenger's wand. It hit him squarely in the chest and knocked him backwards off his feet; his legs began to twitch uncontrollably as he lay in the snow, looking blatantly horror-stricken.

Harry groaned aloud. "Come on, Ron, this one's so simple. You _know_ the counter-curse, I've used it on you dozens of times – hey, where are you going?"

Hermione had suddenly swiveled around, her heart racing, and began plowing through the crowd of professors in the direction of the door. She felt Harry's fingers grasp the material of her robe but shook him off easily, feeling rather annoyed by him and wholly concerned for Ron, which was a complete and utter paradox, she realized. She finally reached the door, yanked on the handle, and exited the room, very aware of Harry close behind her all the while.

Her feet knew the path, and because her mind was too jumbled to think straight along the way, she had arrived at the great oak front doors in the Entrance Hall in what seemed to be mere seconds. Footsteps reverberated to the top of the high ceiling, and all Hermione could hear in her ears was the ringing sound of Harry following her. Without waiting for him, she pushed on the doors and gasped as a cold, unexpected gust of wintry wind lashed at her face. But there they were, Ron and Braedon, some thirty yards away, battling it out with their wands aimed at one another.

"Hermione, _stop_!"

Gathering her robes around her tightly (she hadn't, of course, thought to grab a cloak on her way out), Hermione set off at a jog down the stone steps and landed in the thick snow below. Her legs were immediately swallowed up by the condensation, her pant legs now soaked up to mid-calf. She willed her leg to move forward and began trekking through the snow to the scene of the two clashing professors not far off.

She came to a halt a safe distance away from Ron and Braedon, both of whom hadn't appeared to take notice of her arrival. Keleher was laughing and ducked a blue jet of light that barely grazed the crown of his head. He was clearly becoming better at their game, while Ron was quickly losing patience. Ron's next curse collided with Keleher's abdomen; his eyes bulged in his head and he tripped on the hem of his robes, falling forward and landing face-first in a large pile of snow. Harry, who had just caught up to Hermione and was panting, emitted a small snort of laughter.

Braedon picked himself off the ground, now seething. He blocked Ron's next spell with a shield and, in the meantime, collected a handful of snow and began packing it together to form a ball. The shield flickered then vanished, as Ron's had, but Keleher was ready; he pointed his wand at the snowball in his right hand, yelled, "_ENGORGIO!_" and at once, the ball began growing rapidly in his hand. He flicked his wand again and before anyone knew what was happening, the massive snowball was hurtling itself towards Ron, who gave the impression that he had been frozen to the spot. He seemed to snap back to reality at the last minute and aimed a very well-placed hex at Keleher (leeks immediately began pouring frenziedly out of his ears; Braedon let out a high squeak and began running in circles, swatting at the slimy creatures with his wand to no avail) but he had done nothing to help his current situation. The snowball, which had continued growing along its journey to its victim, was now three times the size of Ron's body and promptly smashed into him with a sickening _crunch_. Hermione gasped again, but was not alone; she had a strong feeling that most of the staff, not just Harry, had followed and were now standing behind her as well.

There was now no trace of Ron anywhere – of course, he was obviously buried under the lumpy pile of snow just feet from the still shrieking Keleher, but no part of his body could be seen. The snowball seemed to have rendered him motionless, or perhaps even unconscious. And Hermione's stomach twisted so tightly that circulation might have been cut off from her brain, which could have explained her sudden and unfounded change of attitude.

She found her legs (surprisingly, they could still move, despite her suspicion that they were severely frost-bitten) and traveled forward toward Ron, slowly at first then faster and faster when the pile of snow still did not budge, nor did the victim underneath. This was all her fault, if only she hadn't let Keleher take an advantage of her that night, if only she hadn't even _touched_ those drinks… or perhaps it was Harry's fault, as it was much easier to blame him for it all, but she honestly didn't know or care who was responsible, because if anything had happened to Ron…

Hermione reached the area she had estimated Ron to have fallen in and drew out her wand. "Ron!" she called desperately. "Ron, are you there? Can you hear me?" She melted the snow in a fat circle and nearly singed a strand of vibrant red hair in the process; her heart leapt into her throat and she dropped to her knees, digging through the wet snow with her bare hands. Finally, something long and dressed in dark robes materialized, covered in chunks of frost and looking quite frozen. The figure groaned and opened one eye gradually, then hoisted himself upward into a sitting position. He looked disgustedly at his arms and legs and shook them vigorously, sending snow flying in all directions. His wand was still clenched in his hand, its tip glowing slightly from previous use.

"Ron?" Hermione said tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"Think so," Ron muttered. His eyes strayed towards Braedon, who had not yet ceased from panicking around the snowy grounds of Hogwarts. A small yet satisfied smile appeared on his lips as he watched. "Should've seen that one coming, though. Bloody wanker," he added, nodding towards Braedon and speaking more to himself than to Hermione.

"Ron, you didn't – you didn't have to do that," said Hermione quietly. She had suddenly become very aware of nearly the entire staff watching some twenty feet away, a few of them laughing at Keleher but most interested in the confusing scene concerning the fallen Ron. Hermione bit her bottom lip; what was she _doing_? True, Ron could have gotten himself killed, but was that really a reason to begin acting civilized towards him when he had done nothing of the sort himself since their arrival at Hogwarts?

"Er," Ron muttered. A faint blush rose to his cheeks and his ears glowed momentarily. He averted his eyes and examined his wand closely as if searching for scratches or marks, but both he and Hermione knew he would find none. "That bloke's a prick, Hermione," he decided on. "He had it coming, you know. I'm not only one here who's wanted to jinx the hell out of him lately. And – Harry told me what happened, after what he did to you, he deserved –"

But something was repeating itself in Hermione's brain. She tuned Ron out for a minute and strained her ears to listen to the little voice. _Ron could have gotten himself killed!_ it rang shrilly. _Ron could have died, he could have hurt Keleher, what if a student stayed out onto the grounds, what if any of the students had actually _seen_ it? What was he _thinking

"What were you _thinking_?" Hermione shrieked suddenly, cutting Ron off mid-sentence. He blinked, looking quite taken aback by her unforeseen outburst. Hermione had surprised herself too, but a new emotion was boiling inside her, one of rage, fury, and annoyance at Ron's foolish actions. She knew she was missing the bigger picture here; Ron had just risked his own neck to achieve revenge on Keleher for what he had done to her, when none of it had involved him in the very least. She knew that meant something, but it would have to be scrutinized carefully, and she had no time for deciphering it now. Now, she was irritated at Ron's blatant stupidity.

"You could have gotten yourself _killed_!" she continued. Calm, collected, and logical thoughts were quickly extinguished in her mind. She rose to her feet, her hands balled at her sides, with Ron staring perplexedly up from the ground. "You're here for a _specific reason_, Ron, and you just can't go parading around, blasting professors off their feet because you don't like them! What if – what if a student had seen, Ron? What would they have _thought_? What if you _accidentally_ hexed someone, or –"

"The only person I was aiming to hex was Keleher, Hermione," Ron spat. His logical thoughts seemed to have vanished instantaneously as well; when in a fight, neither of them had rarely ever remained composed, and now was not an exception. "And I don't exactly see any students around, do you?"

Hermione winced; she hadn't meant for this to turn into an argument. Obviously, Ron had no intentions of letting his pride get slaughtered on the grounds of Hogwarts with the staff watching. It was surely bad enough that Keleher had nearly bested him, but what would the other professors think if he got bested by Hermione in a shouting match? She couldn't let him win, though. She couldn't let him think she was anything less than furious.

"Use your head for once, Ron," Hermione snapped. "McGonagall didn't summon you here so you could duel with the teachers." She lowered her voice slightly so that it no longer carried over to the other assembled adults. "If she found out what you just – what you did, what you did to him," – she glanced at Braedon and noticed that the spell had undoubtedly not worn off, though it was hard to feel much sympathy – "she would be absolutely livid. And McGonagall doesn't need anything else to worry about, least of all immature Ministry Department Heads who think they still go to school here."

"I – I just did – you –" Ron was moving his mouth, but nothing of much sense was coming out. He finally took to glaring at her, still lying on the cold, soggy ground, snow freezing to the tips of his red hair.

Hermione too felt speechless. There was so much she wanted to say to the man lying at her feet, but the time did not feel appropriate, and she honestly didn't want her co-workers present, either. Rage seemed to take precedent over everything else, since that was what Hermione was best at conveying. However, she felt that no words were equivalent to her anger, and she had just realized how cold she actually was; the bottom half of both her legs were soaked to the skin, her hair was damp, her teeth were chattering. Snow had begun to drift down from the sky, settling in Hermione's hair (which was quickly becoming rowdier with the condensation) and sticking to her eyelashes. A growing urge to be alone was overcoming her; she knew she had to leave, go inside, crawl up in her four-poster bed and mull over certain thoughts that were currently ricocheting around in her brain.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Ron," Hermione said quietly, looking down at him sadly. He returned the gaze, but it was short, for seconds later Hermione pulled away and turned her back. As she had predicted, nearly the entire staff was huddled nearby, watching curiously and shivering at the same time. Hermione averted her eyes downward, feeling slightly embarrassed by her bold outburst that, no doubt, they all had heard quite well, as she began to trudge back toward the stone steps. She passed Harry along the way, who made a move to grab her arm, but seemed to think better of it and withdrew his hand, still watching her. Once Hermione reached the stone steps, she pushed on the front doors and let them close behind her before breaking into an all-out run, sprinting through the corridors in the direction of her dormitory, very aware but indifferent to the tears streaming down her face.

* * *

The broom beneath his body was quick, slender, sleek; he fluently sped through the dense forest with ease, weaving in and out of the massive trees and brushing against their leaves. His pursuer was close behind, he knew, but thankfully was not as skilled on a broomstick. The time was late in the evening, and the sun had long since set, leaving for a very dark path through the forest. Branches cracked menacingly just feet away as the hunter steadily gained on him, and he began to grow worried that his broom would not outrun the other. He couldn't meet his erroneous demise now; he had a feeling that he was close, very close, to something he had been working towards for a reasonably long time. A vague clearing loomed into view ahead of him, and a thought shot through his brain: it was there! Whatever he had been searching for desperately was nearly at the mere disposal of his fingertips, just yards forward in that clearing. He leaned low on his broom, willing it to go faster, with the sound of the rushing wind roaring in his ears. He chanced a glance behind him and saw the hooded figure on the broom closer than ever, nearly on his tail; his pursuer let out a gleeful cackle and reached out a long, pale hand towards him, groping the air threateningly. He turned back around and focused on the clearing as he hurtled along, skirting tree trunk after tree trunk in the darkness. He was nearly there… just a few more yards, and he would finally achieve it. He just knew that it would be there, his gut told him so, and he _had _to get to it first before –

Harry suddenly bolted up in bed, having just been roughly awoken from a peculiar dream. He quickly came to notice that he was not on a broom in a forest but instead was lying in his dark dormitory, alone, with sweat trickling down his forehead. The dream, however odd and meaningless it seemed to be, had been vivid and for some reason wouldn't leave his mind. Harry felt thoroughly tired and groggy and had no intention of mulling over the dream again at this hour of the night, whatever hour that was.

He glanced to his right and, with a slight pang of panic, saw that the identical four-poster bed was empty. He then quickly reminded himself that Ron was rooming in the hospital wing for the night at the persuasion of Madam Lucille; though no lasting damage had been done, he had been rather badly banged up during his brief quarrel with Braedon Keleher (it had taken half a dozen professors, including an enraged McGonagall herself, to control and transport Keleher, who did not stop shrieking and sprouting leeks from his ears for hours). With a deep sigh, he lowered his head back onto his comfortable pillow, and decided he would visit Ron in the morning to recount his dream before it escaped him entirely.

Harry's head had barely touched the material before he bolted up again in the dark, stiffening and hardly daring to breathe. He had just realized what had awoken him in the first place; something tall was moving across the room by the bookshelf, an ominous shadow in the obscurity of the dormitory. His hand instinctively reached for his wand, which he kept concealed under his pillow during the hours of the night. Squinting, he saw the shadow move again and realized, with a slight twinge of alarm, that there was more than one. Actually, there appeared to be several tall shadows over by the bookshelf, imperceptible to the normal eye. He was even beginning to wonder if he hadn't imagined the movement when a muted _thud_ met his ears, the obvious sound of a thick book being knocked off the shelf.

It was then that Harry was sure he was not alone in his room after all.


	24. Intruders

**Author's Notes:** Only two more days. I hope you're all as excited as I am for this one. The sad thing is, after this, there'll be one more and then it's all over - so let's try not to think about that and focus on rejoicing for book six instead. I am _so_ eager to find out who dies (that sounds terribly morbid), because what happens in this book actually _happens_. This isn't a might-be imaginative fan fiction story - if someone is killed off, then they're actually gone for good. And that automatically puts this story and about three quarters of the rest into the AU category. Woo hoo (note sarcasm).

I keep doing POV switches, I know, but I've given up attempting to write like Jo Rowling and have decided to do it my way. I think things get a bit tedious after a while when it's strictly written from Hermione's perspective, and since I absolutely love Harry, I just have to incorporate scenes from his POV into the story. But most importantly, I wouldn't be able to _write_ several scenes if I couldn't do switches now and then. I was thinking about a chapter from Ron's point of view, just to, you know, explain a few things; I'm not sure though, because at this point, I don't want to add in any unecessary parts of the story for fear of it dragging on and becoming too lengthy.

I'm not quite sure what I'll be doing after this story, either. Long ago, I said I would do a Bridget Jones-esque Hermione diary of OOTP, but there's no point in that anymore, seeing as book six is nearly here, and all. Perhaps a HBP diary? That _would_ be a nice break from writing stories such as this (very exhausting at times), so we'll see.

My Author's Notes are always so long. If that irks you all, and you'd rather me just say nothing so you could get on with reading the story, let me know. And finally, here are more answeres to your questions and comments.

**Tombadgerlock:** Um, well, thank you for all your reviews, I suppose. First of all, from your review of chapter nine, in response to: "ok great, ron and harry were following her with the invisibility cloak" - actually, no. They _weren't_ following her with the cloak, they had no idea she had gone to visit Hagrid and honestly, neither had any inclination to follow her. Perhaps you deduced that from how Hermione had the feeling someone was watching her, or someone was nearby, but that was only referring to her two attackers in the forest. And from your review of chapter eight: "uh...didn't like ron making fun of hermione like that, she should have used a silencing charm on him" - well, the whole point of that entire scene would have been scrapped if she had used a Silencing Charm on him. Not only is that OOC for Hermione, it is certainly unacceptable for a Hogwarts professor, especially Hermione, to use magic on other adults during lessons. And finally, in response to your review of chapter seven: "ah well, i do hope hermione won't be stupid enough to ever go out with ron though" - seeing as this _is_ a HG/RW story, as I have stated innumerable times before, well, you get the drift.

**Flower of Scotland:** Thank you, thank you, thank you for your marvelous review. I love receiving long reviews like your's; it just totally makes my day. I'm so glad to know that you think Ron was very in-character during his brawl with Braedon, and everyone else is pretty in-character as well. I try my best, but it's difficult sometimes. And no, I am not British, I am very American, but I'm happy to have a British reader! I suppose I've picked up some of my language from reading all five Harry Potters and other British books (most books I read are British chick lits) and from various movies as well. I just enjoy the British way of speaking and sense of humor more, I suppose. So if anything un-British or incorrect is ever said, I do hope you'll point it out for me.

**MorphManiac:** I like your thinking concerning who you're suspicious of. I'm glad to see that I've opened you up to such possibilities. I'm not going to reveal anything now, so just keep guessing, and perhaps by the end of the story you'll be right!

Oh, andthank you for all your reviews. Really. I'm so happy that I haven't lost a ton of readers and you are all still faithful (and hopefully will be even after book six). It means so much to me, honestly. You have no idea.

I know this was a quicker update, but I wanted to post this before HBP. And I got so many great reviews that I decided, what the hell, I'll just do it. So yes, this _will_ be the last chapter before the release of the sixth book. As I've said so many times before, I do hope you all will come back to finish this after you've read it. But for now, have fun and enjoy your reading, and don't be _too_ depressed over who dies. :)

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**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: INTRUDERS**

"_Lumos_."

Harry lit his wand just in time to find a spell hurtling his way from across the dorm. Without quite meaning to, he rolled over and toppled to the ground, taking his pillow and bed sheets with him. Someone, perhaps the caster of the spell, was speaking in a low and brisk male voice, so Harry took advantage of this hiatus and scrambled to his feet, his wand clenched firmly in his right hand. The beam from of light was weak, but he could vaguely make out the outlines of five figures hovering around the bookshelf. His drowsiness and fervent yearning to return to bed were long gone as a sense of exhilaration overtook him. He hadn't been engaged in such adventure, though he was still quite unsure of what was going on, in months; his heart quickened, his palms grew sweaty, and his mind began racing. He had been waiting for this.

"_EXPERLLIARMUS_!" shouted one of the figures when the talking had ceased. Harry was caught off guard and he felt his wand slip from the tips of his fingers; it flew into the air and landed on the other side of his bed. He mentally cursed himself for being so inattentive. Not much could be accomplished without a wand, but perhaps he could duck whatever spells the intruders would cast at him and slink over towards the door where his wand rested.

"_Incarcerous_!"

Before he knew what was happening, ropes had materialized out of thin air and began tangling themselves tightly around Harry's body. He fell forward and onto the solid, wooden floor with a painful crash. There were several more murmurings from within the group of people, but he couldn't decipher their words; moments later he heard books thudding on the ground again. He twisted his neck a couple inches to see dark shadows huddled around the bookshelf. The figures were rummaging through the volumes and, when they were clearly dissatisfied, tossed them aside and moved onto new ones.

_Dammit_, Harry silently cursed. With his wand across the room and magical ropes binding him, it was apparent he was certainly in trouble. He hadn't expected things to go quite so shoddily; he was bloody Auror, for Christ's sake, and Aurors just didn't lay bound on the ground while intruders fumbled around their rooms in the middle of the night. He wished Ron wasn't in the Hospital Wing, because in a situation like this, two against five was surely better than _one_ against five. In fact, Harry thought, it was oddly coincidental that this night of all nights, when he was alone, his room would be broken into. It was actually less coincidental and more deliberate, he realized.

"Have you found it yet?" asked a gravelly female voice. Though it was harsh, it sounded rather young and petite to Harry.

"No," replied another, this one more masculine. "Keep looking. It has to be here."

The ropes were now cutting into Harry's arms and across his chest quite painfully. His breathing was constricted and he had a feeling that if he didn't act soon, he might very well be suffocated. He jerked his body awkwardly to the side until he could clearly see the intruders, all five of whom were demolishing Harry's bookshelf in their ardent search without concern. He racked his mind for some way, any way, to release the ropes and end his dilemma; he had been in sticker situations than this before and knew there was _always_ a way out.

But there was something familiar about one of the burglars, the one who was standing closest to Harry. The person was tall and had long, flowing hair; they were wearing dark robes that reached the floor, robes that bore a great resemblance to those worn as Hogwarts uniforms. Suddenly, a cloud must have moved across the sky, and light from the moon came streaming in through a window, bathing the mysterious person in dazzling light. They did not look around, clearly unfazed as they flipped furiously through a thick dictionary on the floor, but Harry squinted. He recognized the intruder from the halls of the school.

It was the Head Girl, from Ravenclaw. The influential, studious Head Girl had broken into Harry's room during the middle of the night, assisted in binding him with ropes, and continued on to commit robbery. Needless to say, he was extremely shocked and completely confused.

Abruptly, a thought formed in his mind. Since the room was still so dark and the five intruders were clearly absorbed in their own work and thought nothing of Harry, he was sure he would not be seen. He flattened his face against the ground and peered through the space between the bed and the floorboards. His wand was visible, lying just feet from the door, an elongated shadow immobile in the darkness. It was out of his reach but so close…he knew it was not plausible, and he had never attempted the act before, but the situation was dire. Harry did not know what the Head Girl and the other four were capable of, but it was clear to him they were not in their right minds at the moment.

He shut his eyes and squeezed them, desperately concentrating on a single thought, a single word. _Wand_. He repeated it over and over in his mind, picturing his wand from the tip to the handle, frantically praying that the majestic powers above would listen and come to his aid. _Wand. I need my wand._

Then something cold and smooth was suddenly in his right hand, something that had previously been lying across the room, rendering its owner rather useless. Harry sighed but could not bury a lingering sense of disbelief; he had just summoned his own wand to him, an act he had been told was very difficult to accomplish even amongst the best wizards. Now was not the time to congratulate himself, though. He whispered a quick counter-curse and the magical ropes vanished into thin air, leaving Harry with ragged breathing and several noticeable red marks around his arms and legs. His wand at his side, he picked himself up off the ground and crept towards the end of his four-poster. The intruders were still engrossed in their raid of his dorm, but now nearly half of it was covered in books and torn pages that had been quickly discarded.

Harry raised his wand but hesitated, unsure of what to do next. He had a notion that the Head Girl was not the only student in the room and also suspected that none of the members of the group were acting of their own accord. He hardly dared attack a student; but if it was one who had no problem attacking _him_, then he had to defend himself, right? It wasn't as if he could be blamed; Desdemona _did_ Stun nearly a third of a class just weeks ago, he reminded himself, and wasn't prosecuted in the very least.

But once again, while Harry let his mind wander and commenced in becoming distracted, which was quite unlike him, one of the burglars raised their head to notice that their captive was no longer lying bound on the floor. He dropped the book he was holding in his hands and pointed towards Harry, rasping to the others, "What the – hey, over there!"

Three different curses were shot Harry's way simultaneously. Luckily, he regained his senses in time to produce a very effective Shield Charm. Blasts of red, blue, and violet light shot off the dome that surrounded Harry and ricocheted around the room, the red and violet ones coming in contact with the door, shaking it nearly off its hinges, and the blue smashing through the window. The room was showered in bits of glass; Harry flung his arms over his head and when he raised them, he grinned in delight. Now it was his turn.

Two smaller figures began to pull themselves up off the ground. Harry flung his wand forward, shouted out a spell that flew over both their heads, and stepped backwards as the dilapidated yet heavy bookshelf went toppling down onto the two intruders. They looked up momentarily but neither had the smallest chance of defending themselves. _Two down, three to go_, Harry mentally counted, steadying himself as the Head Girl and remaining two prowlers rose to their feet, their own wands pointed at Harry.

"You keep searching, we'll hold him off!" she shouted at one of her comrades. He nodded his head and stooped to the ground, hunting through the books that were randomly strewn across the chaotic floor.

Harry aimed a Full Body Bind towards the searcher but he skillfully rolled sideways, avoiding the jet of light by several feet. Two more curses were sent Harry's way, but he leapt backwards and ducked behind his bed, his breathing rapid and uneven. He jumped as another spell came in contact with the top of his bed post; several large chunks of wood were blown away and finally came to a clattering stop somewhere near the window.

"_Tarantallegra_!"

From his hiding space behind the bed, Harry watched his spell take effect on a girl who was advancing towards him. Her wand immediately slipped from her grip and fell to the floor as her legs began twitching uncontrollably. She shrieked and grabbed at one of her thighs, willing it to become immobile, but it was useless. Her legs carried her back across the room where she tripped and fell over the dark lump of the person fanatically searching through the books scattered around the floor.

The Head Girl suddenly made a lunge at something in a corner, her eyes wide with manic glee. Harry saw this and his heart rate immediately quickened; whatever she and the others were searching for, he was sure it was something they should not get their hands on. He quickly followed and raised his wand, the formation of a spell on the tip of his tongue, but with miraculous agility the girl spun around and waved her wand first.

"_Incendo_!"

Harry let out a shout and tumbled backwards onto Ron's bed, the bottom of his robes aflame. He seized a pillow and began swatting at his feet frantically. Somewhere across the room, the Head Girl cackled sinisterly, which Harry was sure was quite unlike her normal laugh, and ducked down again to pick up a book. Something in Harry's gut lurched unpleasantly; whatever she was holding, a book that had been sitting on his shelf all year, completely ignored, he knew it was what they had broken into his room for. He glanced down at his feet and realized that the flames had spread to Ron's bed sheets as well as the pillow, but it seemed trivial. He tossed the pillow aside, possibly catching something else on fire, and pounced towards the Head Girl, his wand raised and ready. "_STUPEFY!_"

The girl blocked the spell and it rebounded back towards him. Harry leapt out of the way just in time and the spell crashed into the wall behind him, leaving a rather large hole. He whirled around to find the Head Girl dashing towards the door with the book cradled in her arms, leaving behind the two figures under the bookshelf, the mad dancing girl, and the other on the floor who had clearly not realized that the object of their search had been uncovered. Harry aimed his wand, shouted, "_Colloportus_," and watched as the Head Girl collided painfully with the door. She jiggled the handle hysterically even though it was unsuccessful, ducked to the ground as Harry sent another Full Body Bind her way, and rolled towards the fallen bookshelf.

"Get up!" she hissed at her remaining partner. The boy on the ground stood immediately and faced Harry, his wand at the ready, but Harry was quicker. Within moments the boy lay on the ground, immobile. The Head Girl growled and darted across the room towards the naked window.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry yelled, charging after her. "_STUPEFY! STUPEFY, _DAMMIT!"

"_CRUCIO_!"

Harry flung his arms over his head impulsively and veered sharply to the left, quickly coming in contact with the wall. He slid down to the floor, his head aching from the collision, and vaguely comprehended what he had just heard. The Head Girl of Hogwarts had attempted an Unforgivable Curse on him. He was completely astounded but could not find the strength to mull the thought over, as his head currently throbbed beyond logical awareness.

He could make out distant footsteps and opened one eye wearily to stare up into the face of a tall, shadowed stranger. Their face was a mixture between satisfaction and lunacy, he decided, as they peered down at him with their wand pointed forward. In their other arm was an ordinary-looking book, clenched tightly as though its owner were hanging on for dear life. A searing pain shot across Harry's forehead, one quite unconnected to his scar; he was half convinced he had sliced his head in two when he smashed into the wall. He made to stand but found it impossible, as his whole body seemed to ache from the impact.

"Too bad you never got around to reading this," said the figure, who Harry realized was a girl. The Head Girl, he quickly remembered. She motioned towards the book in her hand, a sardonic smile playing across her lips. Behind her was Ron's bed, now completely ablaze with the fire from Harry's robes. The orange light fell across her crazed face and illuminated her abnormal countenance. It seemed as if she was insane, no doubt, but the insanity appeared to be rather forced than natural. But then again, Harry knew he was nearly delirious, so it was agreeably not the best time to dwell on people's expressions.

The Head Girl, once so respected and noble, pointed her wand at Harry's chest. She opened her mouth and a curse formed on her lips, one that would surely bestow upon its victim the worst, but oddly, no words ever escaped from her mouth. Instead, her expression froze and her wand plummeted from her grip as her body tipped sideways, then landed on the floor with a deafening crash.

For the first time in many minutes, all was silent in the room except for Harry's jagged breathing.

A new figure was standing in the doorway surveying the scene with obvious shock. Their eyes traveled from the fallen Harry to the dilapidated bookcase to the five intruders strewn about the room to the blazing bed and back to Harry. The latter screwed up his eyes, trying to discern the person, and felt an immediate wave of relief overcome him once his vision cleared and he realized, with gratitude, who his savior was.

"_Harry_! Oh, my – what on _earth_ happened here?" said Hermione. She stepped into the room, carefully skirting the chunks of wood that had been blown from Harry's bedpost, with her wand dangling limply at her side (its tip was still glowing from recent use). Her eyes were round with alarm as she surveyed the destroyed room and the five conquered intruders. There were clearly dozens of questions forming in her mind, Harry could tell, but who wouldn't have inquiries upon entering a room with one corner ablaze, another serving as quarters to several unconscious figures, and the floor completely covered in torn books and papers?

"It's a long story," Harry muttered from his position on the floor. Hermione saw he was injured and quickly crossed the room to his wall, bent down, and helped him to his feet. His vision swam for a moment and Hermione's face became a foggy blur before his eyes refocused, and from standing point, he was able to survey the damage that had been done to his dorm with better precision.

"Damn," he swore upon noticing Ron's flaming bed. Hermione stepped aside as he lurched past her towards the fire; window curtains were just inches from the flames, and on top of everything else that had just occurred, Harry really did not want to see his whole room burn to a crisp before the night was over. "_Evanesco_."

A moment later, the burning flames vanished from sight, leaving Ron's bed looking scorched and quite undesirable to sleep in. Fumes still hung in the air, swirling around by the ceiling, giving off a pungent smell of smoke even though the fire was long gone. Harry was briefly thankful he had not accidentally set _his_ bed on fire, though he was fairly positive Ron wouldn't be all too happy to find that his mattress was nearly disintegrated.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"I'm brilliant," Harry muttered through clenched teeth. He lifted a hand to his head and tenderly pressed it to his skin; he felt blood seeping from his hairline and was certain there would be a nice gash there to prove that he had indeed crashed into a wall.

"Who are they?" Hermione pointed towards one of the motionless bodies strewn across the floor. Harry followed her finger and saw it was the girl he had hit with the dancing legs jinx. She was now lying underneath the boy who had been assigned to search through the books, their limbs entangled in an uncomfortable-looking fashion. She appeared to not be completely unconscious either, although her eyes were closed; a moan escaped from her mouth and her arm twitched slightly, but other than that, there was no movement from any of the five intruders.

"Hermione, I think they're students," Harry said quietly. He watched as Hermione's eyes bulged out in her head and a hand flew to her mouth. She glanced at the Head Girl, lying frozen in the center of the floor, and probably realized that in the act of saving Harry, she had Stunned a student herself.

"What?" she whispered, distress written all over her face. "_Students_? How – that can't be, Harry. Why would students attack you in the middle of the night?"

Harry shook his head but stopped at once, as it only intensified his headache. "That's the Head Girl there." He pointed to the back of the Stunned girl and distinctly heard Hermione gasp. "I think the Head Boy's over there, underneath that bookshelf. I've no clue who the others are, but you probably do, since they're in your classes."

Hermione seemed unable to believe that students she taught every day had just ambushed Harry and wreaked destruction across his room while the rest of the school was fast asleep. The idea seemed so far-fetched, so _wrong_ that even though Harry knew the five students had not acted on their own free will, he was still utterly disturbed.

"And they didn't exactly _attack_ me," he corrected. "They were searching for something."

"In your room? Then you definitely think they were working for…?"

"This has Lestrange written all over it," Harry muttered. He crossed the room, leaving Ron's smoldering bed, and crouched down next to the fallen Head Girl. The book she had been so heavily guarding was still in her arms, looking completely unimpressive or unique, and Harry had a difficult time convincing himself that a dull-looking book could be the center of such pandemonium. He pried it from her grip and stood up, staring at the dusty black cover.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, appearing behind his shoulder.

Harry shrugged, his eyes still glued to the tome in his hands. The book appeared to be extremely old, as the title had completely worn from both the cover and the spine. There were no authors to be seen or other information that would serve as some clue as to what the book was or where it came from. He flipped it open to the first page; it was completely blank (he expected there had once been words there, too, but had also faded) except for one line at the very bottom. In sparkling purple ink, stamped along the edge of the page was _PROPERTY OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_.

Hermione gasped in his ear. "What are you doing with a book from the Ministry in your room?"

"I've never seen this book before in my life," Harry replied. He began flipping through the rest of the ancient and tattered pages, hoping to find something that would enlighten him as to what exactly the book was. There was just paragraph after paragraph on each page; no words particularly jumped out at Harry, nor did any of it appear to be very interesting. He wondered why Bellatrix Lestrange, who no doubt played a large part in the night's events, would want anything to do with something so aged and boring. She had already stolen the records book from his room – did she really need anything else?

Harry flipped the book back to its cover and stared at it. Then, something ignited in his brain, and a brief recollection from long ago came rushing back. "Hold on," he said, urging his mind to retrieve the memories. "No, I _have_ seen this book before, somewhere."

"You have?" asked an anxious Hermione.

"I think Romina lent this to me before a mission once, when I was still at the Ministry. She said it would come in handy while I was out in Iran, or Iraq, or wherever. I never felt the need to return it to the Ministry library and probably tossed it into my trunk on accident when I was packing for Hogwarts."

"But –" Hermione seemed as bewildered as Harry. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that her face was screwed up in deep contemplation, as it often was when she was presented with a confusing problem. "This doesn't make sense. What's so important about that book that five students had to break into your room in the –"

A creak and a bang suddenly interrupted their conversation, and both Harry and Hermione jumped, their wands at the ready, as the door was forcefully pushed open nearly off its hinges. Several more figures appeared on the threshold, looking as if they all had pulled themselves out of bed quite haphazardly. Desdemona, James Horn, Ginny, and Flitwick all tumbled into the room, wands in hand, and paused to gasp in unison.

"Merlin's beard," breathed Desdemona. She stepped forward, carefully avoiding treading on what had once been the mad dancing girl, and gazed around the room with her mouth open far enough to swallow a dragon, in Harry's opinion.

"James and I were down in the staff room when we heard shouts," explained Ginny. Her eyes flickered to Harry momentarily but then she looked away quickly and bent down to check the pulse of a student. Harry briefly wondered why in the world Ginny and James would be awake in the staff room at this hour of the night but things of far more importance were currently occupying his mind, so he made a mental note to ask her later. "Desdemona and Filius were awake and already down the hall by the time we made it up here."

"You should have heard the commotion from _my_ room," said Desdemona with a note of awe in her voice. "Three doors down and it sounded like a herd of hippogriffs was destroying Hogwarts. I'll be damned if we weren't the only ones awoken."

"Harry, did you _Stun_ her?" asked James. Harry swiveled his head to find the professor kneeling down on the floor beside the Head Girl; she was still lying on her side, her eyes open and an expression of manic glee frozen on her face.

"No, that was me," Hermione said wearily. James raised his eyebrows at her and bent down over the Head Girl again, checking her pulse just as Ginny had done. Harry realized that James, as well as most Hogwarts professors, was unacquainted with the fact that the students were not in their right minds when they had raided his room. In fact, James was most likely shocked and appalled that Hermione had Stunned a student, let alone the Head Girl.

He then realized that the four visitors would probably be eager to hear an explanation of why Harry's room was in a shambles and five unconscious students were strewn about his floor. He felt drained and tired, and after dueling with people who, amazingly, seemed to possess powers far beyond what they should have, yearned to return to bed. Explaining the attack would lead to explaining how the students broke into his room, what they were looking for, and why (though he was still curious as to was so important about the book).

Thankfully, Harry was never faced with the nuisance of an explanation. At that moment, the door opened for the third and final time, and McGonagall appeared in the doorway, with an exhausted-looking Professor Yang behind her. McGonagall herself seemed as if she had just been rudely awakened from a much-needed slumber; her face expressed that she was half annoyed, half worried. Upon taking in the destruction of the dorm, the unconscious students, and Harry and Hermione, all evidence of annoyance had vanished and troubled concern took its place. Silent confusion was exchanged between her, Harry, and Hermione, and Harry willed her to understand so he wouldn't have to trudge through a strained elucidation with the other Professors present. Finally, as if she could read his mind, she must have comprehended this fact and straightened her posture, staring pointedly across the room at Harry.

"Potter," she said crisply, attempting to conceal her unease but failing wretchedly. "Who is – are those students, Potter?"

"Yes, M – yes, they are." For some strange reason, though it was quite inappropriate, Harry felt as if he had just been caught in a mischievous act by his professor, something he had experienced quite often during his own schooldays at Hogwarts.

"I see." McGonagall was silent for several long, agonizing moments as her eyes wandered the room, resting on each student in turn. Harry glanced at the gathered professors, who were all following her gaze and wore identical expressions of puzzlement. He briefly saw Professor Horn's eyes stray towards him and looked away, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. When he glanced at the man again, he realized James was not looking at him but was actually focused on the book he was still clenching in his hand; Harry stepped closer to Hermione and put his hand nonchalantly behind his back, concealing the book. The two locked gazes and Hermione made a face that most likely said, _Don't let any of them see that book_. Harry glared back, willing his face to say, _I know, Hermione. I'm not that thick._

"She has been Stunned?" inquired McGonagall suddenly. Harry looked to see that she was motioning towards the Head Girl. He nodded his head slightly as Hermione opened her mouth and stated clearly that it was her doing.

McGonagall stepped back, inhaled a deep breath of air, then let it out slowly. She returned her gaze to Harry, and as hard as he tried to discern it, it was unreadable. "These students need proper medical attention," she said, turning to the five professors gathered behind her. "I trust you all to transport them safely to the Hospital Wing? Let Madam Lucille know this one was Stunned, and the others fell unconscious of their own accord. I'll be there shortly."

There were consecutive nods from the assembled professors before they all stepped forward, began conjuring up stretchers, and hauled the students onto them. Within moments, all five couples had disappeared from the disorganized dorm, and suddenly the room felt much emptier to Harry once all ten people had gone. He let out a long sigh and sunk backwards onto his bed, which he wished he had never gotten up from in the first place.

"Potter, I'll need you to owl the Aurors straight away," McGonagall said, breaking the silence. Her unreadable expression had vanished and she obviously had no intentions of hiding her worry. "This will be classified as another occurrence, and I do not doubt myself in saying the Ministry will be sending more representatives than the one we already have as soon as they find out. I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to conduct a full investigation in the morning."

Harry nodded. He let his arm relax and it fell to his side, revealing the black book with the faded cover. McGonagall glanced at it fleetingly before letting out a resigned sigh herself. "Go on, Potter. As much as we'd both like to pretend this isn't what we know it to be, I'd like to hear the explanation, anyway."

* * *

Though January terminated, the cold temperatures outside the sanctuary of the school did not. With February came less and less bouts of illnesses amongst the students, as most were finding difficulty in prolonging their symptoms, but a definite increase in showers of snow. Hogsmeade weekends were not cancelled due to the weather; however, a significant number of students usually wisely chose to stay behind, while the more adventurous ones dared to trudge through the mounting snow to the little village. 

Conditions were harsh outside Hogwarts as well as inside. Hermione, along with nearly all professors, did not relent any in assigning homework to the students, especially the fifth and seventh years, both of which would be going through significant exams in four months' time. The distressed Transfiguration teacher felt closer to an emotional breakdown than ever, what with all the turmoil going on inside her mind throughout most days.

Hermione was still utterly troubled and, admittedly, frightened by the raid of Harry's room that occurred as the last days of January died. The situation had been explained to the staff with minor altercations and naturally, it leaked out to the rest of the school as well. Professors were told not to tell students anything they knew, so Hermione was forced to listen to the wild stories that flew around the school, reflecting the expansive imaginations of some students. The five students who had broken in Harry's dorm and attacked him awoke later that day in the Hospital Wing, completely unaware that they had even left their beds, as predicted. Harry had informed Hermione and McGonagall during his thorough recollection of the event that the Head Girl had attempted the Cruciatus Curse on him, something that deeply disturbed both women. This bit of information was told to no one, especially the girl and the Ministry, who turned up the morning after, led by the Minister himself and with investigators in tow. The official who had been watching over the school at the time, a young wizard that seemed to be entirely uninformed about his duties, was immediately fired and replaced with an elderly witch just hours later.

The book the students had been searching for was taken into custody by Harry himself and soon became another piece of the puzzle they were forced to hide from the Ministry. Along with McGonagall and the Aurors, who Harry had owled instantly after the attack, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were still baffled as to what sort of key the book possibly contained. Harry had taken to reading the book by night, at Hermione's suggestion, in hopes of coming across something that would be of benefit to Lestrange. His investigation had thus far been unproductive.

The night after the affair, Harry and Hermione had been sitting alone at a table in the staff room late in the night, the latter grading essays, when an owl appeared tapping on one of the windows. Harry quickly crossed the room and let the bird in; it dropped a letter into his arms and perched atop an armchair, gazing expectantly at Harry as if he were supposed to open the letter and send a response without delay. He ripped the unaddressed envelope open and scanned it over before reading it aloud to Hermione.

_We're hoping this won't fall into the wrong hands, but just to be safe, we won't say as much as we wish we could. I remember giving you that book now, Harry, but I don't see any reason for her to want it. I would read it through carefully though, if I were you, because new information is running scarce around here again and we could sure use some help. Brom and Kingsley are off in a country out east (I won't disclose which one) but that's as close as we can get right now. They're due back in a couple days and from the letters we've received so far, they haven't gained much of anything._

_Take care of yourself and don't feel guilty about Stunning any rogue students. You didn't have any remorse for Stunning me during regulation examinations last year, remember? Keep us up to date, Harry. Best to Hermione and Ron._

_R_

Harry hastily scribbled a response to Romina and the Aurors before sending the owl off into the night, hoping that his letter wouldn't be intercepted, either. But other than the returned response a few days later from Mad-Eye Moody, offering his own words of wisdom, communication between them and the Aurors during oncoming weeks was infrequent.

The ever-growing problem of Lestrange wasn't the only thing on Hermione's mind, however. She found herself dwelling more and more on a certain red-haired someone ever since the incident on the grounds more than a fortnight ago. Ron had taken to appearing routinely in the staff room now, most likely in hopes of catching Hermione alone, but she was always sure to never be without company. She attempted over and over again to sort her feelings out, convinced that if she did so, her head would clear somewhat, but anger usually dominated over everything else. This resulted in her avoiding Ron as well as she could. It turned out to be quite an easy feat, she realized, as Hogwarts was so incredibly massive and she was only forced to be in contact with him a few brief times during the day. Of course, that was until he regularly began showing up in the middle of her classes.

It started out relatively innocent; Ron would come knocking on her door harmlessly and ask to borrow a spare quill or an extra inkwell, as he had run out, and Hermione couldn't object by pointing out he could've asked another professor when the staff room and his sanctuary was indeed only a few corridors away. She couldn't resist either, as the student body had already formed speculation about the pair. Obviously, news of Ron's brawl with Braedon Keleher had leaked out to the student body (Hermione highly suspected that Desdemona had let slip some version of the tale during a class just days after the duel), which oddly enough caused most students to have a newborn admiration for the mysterious man from the Ministry.

But soon Ron was showing up in her classroom more frequently, acting as if he had an important question that was between adults, or still requesting to borrow random items, insisting he had important paperwork to finish for the Ministry. Along with his recurring visits, he also came to adapt a more relaxed air; at first he had appeared hesitant and shy, but all the students knew that was not of Mr. Weasley's nature. In a short time, he had taken to sitting on empty desks at the back of the room, interjecting during Hermione's lessons and offering "educational aid", as he called it, to her pupils. The irked professor was greatly reminded of the beginning of the year during her first lesson when Ron had so rudely interrupted, peeving her beyond belief. Oddly, no words concerning the fight with Keleher were ever spoken amongst any in the room, even Ron and Hermione, but both adults knew the reason behind Ron's visitations. It appeared as if he were finally looking to patch things up, but was going about it the absolute wrong way (at least in Hermione's eyes). Since fury still presided over the rest of her emotions, she was not in any mood to forget the past quite so easily.

She knew she couldn't lose her composure in the middle of a lesson, though. Her students were already beginning to hypothesize that perhaps their Transfiguration professor was falling apart at the seams; it was rather hard for her to not completely lose her temper to the poor, unfortunate students when she was in a particularly bad mood (always the result of thinking about just how grim things were looking). Completely going off on Ron during a lesson would only confirm their worst suspicions.

But Hermione should have known it was only a matter of time before the unwelcome Weasley would push the limits too far, resulting in her losing her head. One cloudy day halfway through February, the first day of the year without a snowfall, Hermione snapped.

"I trust you all read last night's homework, chapter nine?" the professor asked, addressing the class of third-years at large. The students, seated individually at their desks and, to Hermione's amazement, paying attention for once, all nodded. She assumed the third -years were slightly more attentive than usual due to the large brightly-colored birds settled on their desks. They hadn't yet worked with animals quite as advanced as these, she knew, and was eager herself to see how much progress her students would make during the class.

"Good. The birds you see on your desks are native to the Caribbean and are, according to specialists, a most difficult breed of fowl to transfigure. If you all have read the assigned chapter like you should have, then I won't need to explain in which ways these birds are useful to wizard-kind, though they undoubtedly are.

"I would like all of you to please place your wands on your desks. We will be learning the proper wrist movement for the spell you'll be using today first, without magic."

There was a soft clattering around the room as the students rested their wands on their desks. Hermione drew out her own, waiting for her pupils to settle, and felt a small twinge of excitement as she always did when she was on the verge of teaching something new. Throughout the year, she had grown quite fond of the feeling she received from watching the young students benefit from her own teachings. She often wondered if this was experienced by all teachers, even the ones from her own days at the school.

A strange honking from the second row caught Hermione's attention. She quickly looked up to find a small, blonde girl attempting to wrestle her wand from the beak of her bird, which was emitting the unusual noise. The girl pulled her arm back as far as she could and nearly fell off her seat when the bird released its grip on her wand; it ruffled its feathers importantly and settled back on the desk, hiding its face under its wing. The small girl, her red face contrasting greatly against her pale hair, steadied herself and placed her wand back on her desk as far away from the bird as possible. Muffled giggles around the room followed.

"Sorry, I forgot to mention to keep your wands away from the birds. They love to chew on wood, coincidentally," Hermione said, forcing her mouth to remain straight. "Thank you for demonstrating that for us, Miss Roberts."

The girl blushed and smiled feebly at the professor.

"Right. I want you all to follow my lead, understand? The movement is simple enough but could be disastrous if not performed correctly. Raise your arms, all together now, and make like you're drawing an invisible letter 'A' in the air. Yes, well done, very good. Just as you finish crossing the 'A', say the spell. Now, repeat after me. _Rosverto Pluma_."

The students made the same flowing motion in mid-air as Hermione had and repeated simultaneously, "_Rosverto Pluma_."

"Nicely done, class. Pick up your wands and on my count, perform the spell on your birds."

Seconds later, when the students had all re-gripped their wands in their hands and had them aimed at their own vibrant birds, the professor said loudly, "Ready? One, two, three –"

The spell echoed around the room as twenty-some bright flashes of light nearly blinded Hermione. There were more honks and squeals, and when the light had vanished, she gazed around the room hopefully. As she had expected, only a handful of birds had vanished, and in their place now rested large, multi-colored quills with the students seated behind them, smirking proudly.

"Excellent, Mr. Jones! Your quill is perfect; I've never seen one of such precision. That'll be ten points to Hufflepuff," she said, beaming at a bashful third-year boy in the front row.

The students who had failed to transfigure their birds (which turned out to be nearly the entire class, Hermione realized) continued on throughout the rest of the lesson, jabbing their wands at the birds and yelling out the spell time after time. Some of the birds, to Hermione's alarm, were growing bored and tired and had taken to poking at the student seated at their desk, either in attempts of seeking out their wands or pulling at their hair. Thankfully, most of the class seemed to be on the right track of successfully transfiguring their birds, so not many students were forced to deal with the impish creatures.

But naturally, the lesson had been going too well to last. Soon enough, amid the honks and shouts from the birds and students, the door creaked open and a visitor appeared on the threshold. Ron surveyed the scene with noticeable interest from his position, grinning and watching the class as they attempted to transform the squawking birds into quills. Then he began walking up the middle row towards Hermione's desk, carefully skirting escapees and their capturers, an annoying smirk still plastered across his face.

"Good afternoon, Professor Granger," he said when he approached Hermione. She stared off in the opposite direction as if Ron wasn't standing there at all, her smile from seeing students successful in their transformations now slipping a bit at the interruption. Most of the class had ignored Ron, as they were quite used to his visitations by now, but were also especially occupied in their current tasks. "I wasn't aware you had transformed your classroom into a zoo," he added.

"I didn't," Hermione snapped back. She left it at that.

"Well, surely you can't be teaching a _lesson_?" Ron asked incredulously. His eyebrows shot up in his forehead and he gestured around the room. Hermione followed his hand and did realize, a bit disappointed, that her classroom had turned rather rowdy in the past few minutes.

"Yes, I _am_ teaching a lesson, and nobody appreciates you disrupting it. What will it be today, Ron? A spare quill? A roll of parchment? I'm sure you have _very_ important Ministry work to be doing right now."

"True," he said, and nodded his head thoughtfully. "But somehow, I knew there was a class just a few corridors away that would need my help, and sure enough, I was right. Just look at this place. Do any of them actually know what they're doing?"

"I don't know of anyone in this room who needs your help," Hermione growled, glaring at a bookshelf in the back of the room. "And yes, they _do_ know what they're doing, believe it or not, because I taught them. That's what a teacher does – they _teach_."

Ron chuckled and suddenly pulled away from Hermione's desk, which he had casually been leaning on. He began walking down the aisle, taking in the students and birds around him, then stopped in front of an olive-skinned boy from Ravenclaw. He was poking his bird hard with his wand, repeating the spell over and over, but the bird made no indication at all that it had felt his prodding. In fact, it appeared to be asleep.

"Having trouble, kid?" Ron asked him.

The boy looked around and, upon seeing that it was Ron, grinned widely and nodded his head. He jabbed the bird in its side again, but nothing happened. For a moment, Hermione wondered if it was still alive.

"This spell is _nothing_," Ron told the boy with a wave of his hand. "I've done it loads of times, I could probably even do it in my sleep, but I guess it all just depends on who you have as your teacher, right?"

Ron raised his head to glance at Hermione, who was standing at her desk now, watching Ron and the boy with foreboding. She was sure to glare furiously back.

"Here, I'll show you how an expert does it," said Ron. He reached inside his robe and pulled out his wand. "Then you can tell all your friends that _you_ know how to turn birds into quills because you learned it from Ron Weasley, okay?"

The Ravenclaw boy nodded, still grinning. Hermione fumed from her place at her desk.

Ron raised his wand and made several exaggerated movements in the air, his brow furrowed. Then he lowered his wand towards the snoozing bird. The boy was watching his every movement with admiration, his eyes bulging out in his head. Ron began waving his wand in a fashion completely different from what Hermione taught the class and opened his mouth to enunciate the spell.

At that moment, there was a boisterous honking noise, and a bird from the row behind Ron and the boy took flight, with another pulling at its feathered back. Several students shrieked and made to grab the two birds but ended up colliding with one another; three fell backwards onto the floor. There was a blinding flash of dazzling light and another honk, and when the light had subsided, where there once stood a third-year Ravenclaw student there now sat a brightly-colored bird identical the rest.

"Bloody hell, that's never happened before," said an astonished Ron Weasley for the whole room to hear.

It took Hermione a moment to comprehend what exactly Ron had done; her body seemed to forget how to function properly as she watched everything in slow motion. Her mouth hung open in pure shock, and she was unable to form any coherent thoughts. But then her brain was working again, heat was rising to her face, and she balled her hands at her sides, no longer able to gulp down her words.

"_RON!_" she shrieked deafeningly. The classroom had immediately fallen silent, including the few remaining birds. Hermione threw back her chair, ignoring the crash as it fell to the floor, and all but ran from her desk to the fourth row. Ron didn't seem to be able to move either; he gaped at the majestic bird on its stool, his wand hanging limp at his side.

Hermione reached Ron and felt a burning urge to slap him across the face, but she knew that would be overreacting. Instead, she arrived at his side and stared horrified at the Ravenclaw student, who probably was staring horrified back. "Oh, my g – Ron, what did you _do_!" she screamed, turning to face him.

"I didn't do anything!" he exclaimed. "I don't know what happened, if those bloody birds hadn't attacked me then –"

"Oh, sure, blame it on them!" Hermione yelled.

"I didn't do it on _purpose_!" said Ron. His ears began glowing red, which was always a warning sign. "D'you honestly think I'd take time out of my day to come into your classroom with the intentions of turning students into birds?"

Hermione chose not to respond (certainly a difficult challenge for her) and tenderly picked up the feathered student in her hands. He emitted a rather weak honk but stared pointedly at Ron, his beady little eyes stretched wide. Hermione had the faint notion that the Ravenclaw did not at all mind being turned into a bird, especially by such a prominent Ministry member. In fact, she expected he would feel rather important that he had survived such a thing, and would most likely go on to tell all his friends – as soon as she figured out how to turn him back, of course.

The entire class had halted to watch the scene. There were whisperings behind Hermione, and she knew what they were about. The only thing was, she didn't _know_ how to turn him back.

"Well?" demanded a voice to her left.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to, you know, fix him?"

Hermione stared down pityingly at the third-year in her hands. She was silent for a moment before she muttered, "I don't know how."

"You don't know how?" Ron asked loudly. "You're the Transfiguration professor and you don't know _how_?"

"_You're_ the one who did this," Hermione snapped, blushing. "If you're so clever, and you obviously think you are, the way you talk about yourself all the time, you turn him back."

"I don't – well, I mean – it was an accident, I don't know how to fix him!"

"Then I'd suggest figuring something out, Ron!" said Hermione, turning to face him in a boiling temper. "You can't go around turning students into birds! What will his parents think? What will they think of _me_? I'm his professor, I'm responsible for him while he's in here and –"

"I don't think his parents will give a damn about you," Ron seethed. There were several mutters from behind him, but Hermione paid no attention. "I'm the one who did it, if it's anyone they'll be angry with, it'll be me."

"Watch your language!" Hermione hissed, for lack of anything better to say.

"You're overreacting, you know."

"I am _not_," said Hermione. "You aren't allowed to transfigure the students, Ron! If McGonagall ever found out, she'd probably sack you herself!"

"It isn't my fault, Hermione! I didn't do it on purpose!" Ron repeated, his voice rising. He gestured towards the student in Hermione's arms and accidentally swung at a bird sitting just to his right. The bird honked and took flight, causing several students to break from their motionless states and run after it, but with a flick of Hermione's wand, the bird slowed down and came to a complete stop on a desk halfway across the room.

"Well, it _is_ your fault for being so careless! What if you'd hurt him? Something worse than this could have happened if you hadn't been so –"

"So what?"

"Reckless! Bigheaded! _Interruptive_! For weeks you've been disturbing my classes, showing up for no good reason at all just to irritate me so I'll do something wrong, and now _this_! I've had it, Ron, I've had it with you and – and your idiocy and – I have too much on my mind right now, as you should know, to deal with you! And I'd appreciate it if you stopped asking for my quills, because I need them and God knows you never return anything you ask for."

Hermione finished her short tirade breathing heavily. A stunned silence met her ears. Ron was staring at her with a mixture of hurt and disbelief and seemed unable, for the first time in minutes, to come up with a witty retort. But the glazed look in his eyes quickly vanished, as did his injured expression. His hand shot out and he quickly grabbed the bird in Hermione's hands.

"Harry will know what to do," he said curtly. "I'm sorry for _interrupting_ your class and trying to help your students. I've only known how to do that spell for about six years, after all. I'll be sure never to show up here again. Have a nice lesson, kids," he finished, before pulling in the bird closer and turning on his heel. He stomped down the aisle, his robes billowing out behind him, and disappeared round the doorway. His footsteps reverberated down the corridor for several seconds, and Hermione stood motionless, listening to them, until they faded away entirely and once again, uncomfortable silence met her ears.

She automatically regretted everything she had just said in the past few minutes, knowing that all of it had been heard by the students, and by the end of the day, all of it would be known by the whole school. She could only imagine how her pupils would refer to her now – that professor who's off her rocker, most likely. A burning desire to go back in time and erase the entire lesson welled up inside her, as did tears in her eyes. But she blinked them back. She would not top off the period with crying, too. She had probably just obliterated all respect the students had for her, so they didn't need to be graced with her tears as well.

"Right, well –" Hermione's voice was hoarse and she choked on her words. She wasn't sure she would be able to speak at all. "Er, sorry, that wasn't – I mean, today's lesson didn't exactly go as planned. Sorry. Just…just leave the quills and the birds on your desks, I'll round them up later. You may leave when the bell sounds."

"Do we have any homework?" asked a bright voice towards the back of the assembled students. Hermione's stinging eyes shot across the room to find a girl nudging the boy who had spoken in the side.

"Er, not – not tonight, no. No homework. Good day, class."

The bell rang three minutes later. The students rose from their seats and eagerly piled out of the classroom, headed for dinner, talking loudly amongst themselves about the events of their lesson. Hermione listened behind the closed door in her office to the sound of their booming footsteps until they dwindled into nothing, leaving her alone in deafening silence. She never wanted to leave her office again.


	25. Illusion of Perfection

**Author's Notes:** I'm back again! It's been a long time since the last update, but between Half-Blood Prince, my job, and back-to-school preparations, I've been extremely busy and have not had much time for leisurely things such as writing.

So Half-Blood Prince. Wow. I don't think there's much to say here, but I'll just let you all know that I am not one of the people who were disappointed. No, on the contrary, I was everything _but_ disappointed. I hope most of everyone who is reading this story has read and finished HBP, but in case you haven't, I won't discuss the surprises/happenings of book six. And needless to say, this fic is now officially AU. Sigh. Fortunately, the death in Prince does not contradict much in this story – in fact, the only thing that differs is _how_ that person died. So I'm going to continue writing BCD ignoring Prince (making it pre-HBP, post-OOTP, whatever you like).

Beware of an extremely long chapter! This one is, in fact, the longest to date. And I'm quite happy with it. Lots of revelations, questions being answered, more questions being raised, etcetera. Unfortunately, because I am a bit stupid and wasn't thinking at the time, one of the biggest revelations isn't much of a surprise at all because I included it in the summary. I apologize. Pretend you're surprised, won't you? It's something big for the trio, at any rate, and is a large part of the overall plot.

For those whose Hermione/Ron needs have not been satisfied thus far, I believe this chapter will be to your gratification. That's all I'm going to say. You're going to have to be forced to actually read the chapter, I'm afraid, if you wish to find out more.

And I do hope I still have people reading this. Don't think I've forgotten this story again; I had said in my last Author's Notes that another update would not probably come soon, and I stuck true to that. Of course, future updates may come a bit slower now that school's starting again and all (to hell with education, I say!), but I'll still be working on this fic, never fear.

So as always, please read and review! If you get confused at any part, do let me know, because I did my best to make this chapter as un-confusing as possible.

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**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: ILLUSION OF PERFECTION**

Hermione skipped dinner that night and spent her time alone in the sanctuary of her dorm. Though her stomach protested strongly, she certainly was not going to face Ron, her students, and anyone else who might have heard of her afternoon explosion. In fact, she yearned to never again set foot out in the corridors of Hogwarts; sure, her room might be a bit empty and forlorn, but anything was better than being publicly humiliated again.

She gave up attempting to think of other things and let her mind determinedly dwell on the thought of Ron. Thinking about what she had said to him made her cringe in mortification. She still had not let the hidden message underneath his scuffle with Braedon weeks ago sink completely in, either. Ron seemed to want to let the past go, finally, but Hermione now mentally berated herself for being so utterly stuck-up and stubborn; wasn't it time to move on and amend relationships? They all were facing much larger problems at the moment than something that had occurred six years ago. Lestrange, the Death Eaters, the raid of Harry's room, the book, the safety of the students – all of this certainly presided over Ron and Hermione's confused emotions. And confused Hermione indeed was.

The exhausted Transfiguration teacher let out an extensive sigh and flung herself backwards onto her bed. She vaguely wondered what time it was and how long she had been cowering in her dorm. On the other side of her window, the last remnants of winter snow glistened with the rays from the setting sun, which was slowly sinking behind the tall, dark trees of the Forest. It must have been somewhere around seven o'clock, she imagined, judging from the location of the sun and the rumbling in her abdomen. She began to regret skipping supper.

A sudden knock on the door startled her; she quickly rolled over and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She was seeking solitude in her dorm for a _reason _and was certainly not in the mood to be bothered.But the door never opened. Instead, a voice issued from behind it, muffled and sounding quite concerned.

"Hermione?" It was Ginny. "Are you all right?"

Hermione let the silence answer for her.

"I've brought you something to eat," Ginny said. There was the distinct sound of a plate being set on the floor. "If you want to talk, I'll just be in my room." Retreating footsteps indicated that Ginny had turned and begun traveling down the staff's corridor to her own dorm. A door creaked open slowly but then stopped, as if the person on its threshold hesitated; a moment later it snapped shut, though, and Hermione's world was silent once more.

She opened her eyes, still lying on her bed in the direction of the window, to watch the last rays of sunlight fall across the grounds of Hogwarts. The sky, which had not been sunny in many dreary months, was growing steadily darker and seemed to be swallowing up the red and orange shades that bathed her room in radiance. Though the snow had all but disappeared, the Hogwarts lake was still as frozen as an ice cube; the sun shone out over the glistening surface one last majestic time before finally vanishing over the horizon, plunging the grounds and Hermione's room into fresh darkness. The professor inadvertently shivered, though her room was hardly cold in the least. Her dorm no longer appeared warm and comforting as it had an hour ago, with the bright, fiery colors from the sun illuminating it, and on the contrary, it now seemed to serve as a prison of obscurity.

Hermione swung her legs over the side of her four-poster and stood. Her decision had been made in a moment – of course it was physically impossible to hide in a dormitory for the rest of one's life, and she knew it also conveyed a sense of weakness. Hermione was anything but weak and would not have the rest of the school deeming her as such. She crossed the floor and opened the door slowly, hoping Ginny wouldn't hear the noise and come out into the hallway. She nearly tripped over something lying on the floor and, looking down, realized she had completely forgotten about the food Ginny left. Staring up at Hermione enticingly was a plate containing a roll, a large lump of mashed potatoes, two small slabs of meat, and a sparkling goblet of pumpkin juice. She reached down, grabbed the roll, stuffed it into her mouth in three rather vulgar bites, and continued on her way, very thankful to Ginny for bringing her up food. Otherwise, she was sure she might have starved. Or almost.

The staff room was oddly vacant, which surprised Hermione, as it was late in the evening and most professors were usually seen plowing through mountainous piles of homework before they turned in for bed. Professor Sprout was seated in a far corner, reading over an extremely lengthy parchment that trailed to the floor and then some; Jeffery Yang was two tables away from her, clearly falling asleep over what appeared to be a very boring essay, judging by how his eyes closed and then snapped open every few seconds; the rest of the tables were strewn with empty coffee cups and discarded quills, and a chair every now and then stuck out oddly from a haphazard table. Hermione was admittedly grateful that nobody was around to question her about the afternoon lesson, and it was clear the other two Professors in the room had no intentions of even acknowledging her presence, which was fine with her. She glanced towards the armchairs in front of the fire, thinking of how appealing they looked, and saw that though she had not noticed when she first entered the room, a person was actually seated in one. The back of their head was not visible, nor was any other part of their body, but one robed arm rested on the side of the chair. Hermione made her way towards the fire, wondering who the person was, and idly found herself wishing that it was Harry. He had probably heard of her outburst hours ago, but hopefully he would listen to her and be a source of comfort. On the other hand, she mused, he might also take to laughing uncontrollably at her, as that was a very Harry thing to do, and she wasn't sure she quite liked that. So perhaps it would be best if it _wasn't_ Harry.

She rounded the armchair and began to lower herself into her own before she altogether realized who was seated next to her, and it certainly was not Harry. She jumped up as the person turned their head slowly to gaze at her, almost sorrowfully, though their expression was quite blank and unreadable.

"Oh," she yelped, embarrassed. "Sorry, I – I didn't know anyone was, er, here…"

The person, who also happened to be Ron, said nothing and returned his gaze to the fire. Hermione stood awkwardly aside his armchair, completely at a loss for words. She hadn't considered that _Ron_, the last person she wanted to talk to right now, could be in the staff room when she had quickly made up her mind to venture out of her dorm. True, he had been spending more time out of his own room the past couple weeks, but she honestly had not assessed this possibility. She was trapped. She could very easily run in the opposite direction, or even out of the room – Hogwarts was massive and surely, if she hid well enough, no one would be able to find her for days. Or she could stay and sit in the vacant armchair and painfully plod through a conversation, although she was not entirely sure Ron would talk to her.

She knew what she had to do.

"Can – can I sit?"

Ron didn't answer, so Hermione took that to be a yes and sunk into an adjacent armchair. They both wordlessly stared into the roaring fire. The silence was awkward and deafening and Hermione hated it. She desperately cast her eyes around the room as if expecting something to jump out and plant a very clever subject to converse about in her mind. But dusty tables, drained coffee mugs, scraps of parchment would all make for rather pointless conversation.

"What happened with George Lance, the Ravenclaw boy?" Hermione asked suddenly. She was very grateful for something that didn't sound entirely stupid to pop into her head. "Did Harry set him right?"

Ron nodded, not taking his eyes off the fire; the flames reflected eerily in his eyes.

Hermione let out a breath of relief. "I knew he would, Harry's always been so efficient with tasks like that. Is Lance all right? Will he be back in class tomorrow?"

Ron shrugged. "Probably," he said hoarsely, speaking for the first time since Hermione had arrived in the staff room. "Couldn't stop thanking me enough for turning him into a bird, actually. He thought it was brilliant," he added crisply.

"Oh," Hermione uttered, though it wasn't really a word and actually more of a discomfited sound in the back of her throat. When had she ever become tongue-tied around Ron? On most good days, she usually couldn't stop the words from pouring out of her mouth, especially when Ron was vexing her. A hundred witty remarks about him being not so brilliant and rather more arrogant were begging to flood out, but Hermione suppressed them. Now was _not_ the time for immaturity.

"So, er – where _is_ Harry, by the way?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Hermione could have sworn Ron's eye twitched a bit, but perhaps it was only the light from the fire creating illusions. "Somewhere," he muttered, "with Bella. Mentioned visiting Hagrid or something, I don't know, but I didn't believe it."

"What do you mean?"

Ron glanced quickly at Hermione, his expression sharp, before locking eyes with the fire again. "Nothing. Never mind," he said curtly.

The notion to press Ron for more information passed over Hermione. The words, the ones that she had been debating on whether or not to speak for hours now, the ones that the person sitting opposite would hopefully return, were becoming thick on the edge of her tongue. She was sure she would completely botch everything up, and another furious tirade would ensue for professors Sprout and Yang to witness (as involved in their work, or in Jeffery's case, sleeping, as they undoubtedly were, Hermione knew that no normal human could tune out such incensed yelling). The logical side of Hermione who yearned for peace and good will to all craved to set things right in the world; the other, more defiant, stubborn, and livid side, however, wanted to wait for Ron to beat her at her own game and perform the debatable act first. She knew she had been wrong that afternoon to carry on in such an embarrassing manner when Ron was only trying to aid her class, but that certainly didn't erase all of his wrong from both six years ago and the present. So why should _she_ do _it_ when Ron was clearly harboring most of the blame?

Hermione took a deep breath and gazed absentmindedly into the hearth. The crackling embers shot up at abnormal intervals, rebounding off one another and creating minuscule little fireworks amongst the flames. The heat drifted from the grate and to her face, soothing her worries and bestowing a strange yet not entirely unfamiliar sense of calm upon her.

She knew Ron. And Ron would not do _it_. But that was not his fault; that was simply how Ron was. And that could only mean one thing – she would _have_ to do it. They were both lost causes unless Hermione stepped up and assumed the role of the mature one once again, as she always had. It was the only way she could save them.

She took another deep breath, and in a split second, without another thought, the once heavily guarded words were finally spilling from her lips.

"I'm sorry."

There was a long silence. Hermione could've sworn Professor Sprout's quill stopped scratching.

Ron did not detach his eyes from the fire. His expression remained as stony and blank as ever. The only movement on his face was that of the flames dancing in his eyes, still giving him a very ethereal and not entirely sane look. His eye did not twitch again, his muscles did not constrict, and his breathing remained perfectly regular. Hermione nervously began to wonder if he had even heard her and considered running from the room again.

"Ron? I said I'm – it was wrong of me, this afternoon, to – to treat you like that. In my classroom. I know you were only trying to help, but I don't like other people attempting to take over my classes all that much."

There was more silence. A hot, burning sensation was now rising in Hermione's throat, the kind of feeling one gets when they are perfectly aware they just made a huge, glaring mistake. She _knew_ she should've just let things be; they weren't exactly ideal, of course, because Hermione had never really fancied being in a constant dispute with someone, unless it was for a very logical reason or with Ron, but this one was admittedly growing tedious. Obviously, Ron didn't feel the same way.

"Er, Ron?" she tried one last time, her voice sounding very small and squeaky. When another unbearable silence met her uncertain pleads, she was then sure she had just made a complete and utter fool out of herself. There would be a later time for groaning about her foolish mistake, but first, she needed to slip out of the room and out of Ron's company. She had never wanted to be elsewhere with such a burning desire before in her entire life.

"Ah – well, I have – I have lessons and things to do, so I'll just…go do them. And I'll…see you around, then. Erm…bye."

Cutting off her farewell before she could possibly stutter any more, Hermione made to stand up, careful not to breathe or let her gaze stray towards Professor Yang, who she was not all sure was actually sleeping anymore.

But before she could run from the room, from Ron, and from her uncomfortable stupidity, someone caught her arm.

Ron was no longer ogling endlessly into the grate. Instead, his eyes were now fixated upon Hermione's face, and for the first time in a very long, painful era, they were not full of hatred or scorn. He gazed at her so intently, as if he had never before laid eyes upon her, with a remarkable hint of both regret and selflessness in them. Slightly surprised at herself, Hermione restrained a growing notion to cry, and hiccupped instead. A small smile grew on Ron's face, starting at the corner of his lips, then spreading across their flesh, until his entire face was basking in the warmth of a truly genial grin.

"I'm – _hic_ – sorry!" Hermione all but wailed, still standing beside Ron's armchair and not caring that Jeffery Yang had just abruptly awoken from an allegedly deep slumber. Ron's smile slipped off his face at her outburst. "I was so stupid, Ron, and – _hic_ – the Ravenclaw boy could have been _hurt_ today, if I had just – _hic_ – shut up and let you help the students, they were seriously struggling with that spell, it was too – _hic_ – complex! I don't know what I was thinking, of course you know that – _hic_ – spell, you're probably better at it than me, but what would we have done if it hadn't – _hic_ – been for Harry and – ?"

"Hermione," Ron said abruptly, strengthening his grip on her arm. Tears began pouring down Hermione's cheeks and her hiccups only intensified; she sunk back into her chair and started sobbing. Ron looked like he was trying very hard not to smirk.

"Hermione, stop," he said loudly over her moans and incoherent mutterings of "stupid teacher, don't even – _hic_ – know how to turn a bird back into – _hic _– a boy" and "I'm sorry, I'm so sor – _hic_ – sorry!"

Ron reached inside his robes and drew out his wand. With a quick swish in front of Hermione's face, her hiccups promptly deceased, leaving her to sniffle and cough amongst her heaving sobs. Inside her mind, Hermione was mentally making a note to kick herself later for breaking down _twice_ in a day in front of Ron, and both in quite embarrassing fashions.

"Come on, stop that," said Ron quietly. Professor Sprout threw aside her lengthy roll of parchment and slunk around the tables to Yang, only to whisper animatedly in his ear. Ron rose from his chair and stepped towards Hermione's, in which the emotionally distressed Transfiguration teacher sat, cradling her face in her hands. He bent down beside her chair, extended an arm, and looped it around her shoulders comfortingly. Hermione's cries began to fade away quickly as hundreds of small invisible lightning bolts traveled from Ron's touch to her brain. She raised her red, blotchy head out of her hands and looked up into Ron's, disorientation and vulnerability contorting her face.

"It's all right," Ron said quietly. "Maybe we should go for a walk or something," he added, his eyes flickering over towards the excited little Professor Sprout. "You've been closed up in your dorm for too long, you see what's happening to you?"

He smiled again and Hermione chuckled, still sniffling. Ashamed for crying in front of Ron, she wiped her eyes urgently and pushed heir untidy hair behind her ear, quite aware that Ron's arm was still around her shoulders. She stood hastily, nearly falling over in the act, and unwillingly caused his arm to fall back to his side.

"Good idea," she whispered shakily as Ron stood from his crouching position aside her armchair.

They both turned and traveled across the room to the door. Professor Sprout jumped up and dashed back to her chair, grabbing at random pieces of parchment on the floor and then hiding her face behind them. She was evidently attempting to appear busy, which didn't go over too well, as her face was still rather flushed and her parchment was upside-down. Jeffery Yang, on the other hand, feigned sleeping again, his snoring a bit too loud to be believable.

Ron wrenched open the door and held it open for Hermione to step through. When it snapped shut behind both of them, the comfortable crackling of the staff room fire vanished, only to be replaced by a cold and still silence in the corridor. It was then Hermione became painfully aware that she and Ron were alone, for the first time in six years, and neither was shouting at the other. She vaguely wondered how they had gotten there; shouldn't she still be up in her dorm, hiding, never wanting to see or speak to Ron again?

They set off silently down the hallway, their doubled footsteps reverberating around them. Several windows lining the stone wall confirmed that the hour was indeed late; brilliant moonlight bathed the corridor and engulfed the two dark figures traveling past the glass panes. Hermione distantly pondered where Harry could be with Bella Levrero and why, but Harry's issues weren't exactly imperative at the moment. Hermione was concentrating very strongly on keeping her tongue from blurting out anything offensive or cynical (and really, she was willing herself not to break down and cry again at the words "I'm sorry").

"I took that Ravenclaw boy to Harry right after your class," said Ron suddenly. "I told him what happened, and he did some complicated gesture with his wand. Before I knew it, the boy was sitting on a table in front of me, thanking me repeatedly for transforming him into a bird. He still had a few feathers sticking out of his ears, so I took him to the hospital wing, but he said he couldn't wait to tell his mates."

Hermione grinned weakly. "I figured as much."

There was silence once again. Uncomfortable, awkward, tense silence. Hermione desperately wished for the two of them to lapse into conversation about the boy who was transfigured into a bird, but there honestly wasn't much more to say.

"Have you any idea why Harry's off with Bella?" Hermione asked again, wondering if she was pressing her luck by bringing up the subject once more.

Ron shrugged nonchalantly. "They were talking in the staff room earlier, and I think Hagrid's name was brought up. Bella said she didn't know him all that well, and Harry said he should introduce the two of them – Hagrid's just gotten something odd and dangerous imported from Italy, so Harry probably thought Bella'd like that." He sighed. "Harry has a lot to learn about women."

"He seems quite taken by her," Hermione commented, as she and Ron turned a corner into a corridor housing a long row of old, dusty statues.

"Tell him that and he'll hex you," said Ron. "I said that I think he fancies her and he became very distant and denied it, of course. But you'd have to be a complete git not to notice it."

There was a small, almost unnoticeable trace of disgust in Ron's tone that sparked Hermione's curiosity. They ascended up a marble staircase to the floor above, and she asked, "What? You don't like Bella?"

"No, she's very nice and all that," Ron said quickly, "but I don't think Harry – he shouldn't – he's being – he's just been, well, alone for so long, and he's being –"

"You don't think he should become involved with anyone right now," Hermione finished slightly triumphantly, for she was able to articulate quite well now, whereas Ron seemed to have a bad case of stuttering.

Ron nodded quietly.

"Because of everything that's going on? You think he's too busy to have a relationship?" Ron nodded again, not looking at Hermione and instead staring at his shoes. "Ron, do you think you're a bit jealous?"

"No!" Ron replied sternly. "I'm not jealous, no. I'm just…thinking about what's best for Harry."

"Harry's a grown man, Ron. I'm pretty convinced he knows how to look after himself by now, but I'm sure he thanks you very much for having his best interests at heart."

Ron said nothing as they both continued walking on aimlessly, having no idea where they were going, or, really, where they were. The halls of Hogwarts were all blurring together and beginning to look the same, as they always did during the night hours. Hermione was afraid it had been the wrong thing to say – she hadn't meant anything by it, she really hadn't even thought it was too sardonic. But perhaps Ron thought otherwise.

The meaningless discussion about Harry had obviously dwindled to an end and silence once again settled over Ron and Hermione. Their slow, clicking footsteps bounded off the walls and echoed down the long, deserted corridors.

Suddenly, the half of Hermione's brain that contained the better part of her logic seemed to catch up with the rest of her. She rapidly realized where she was, who she was with, and hardly dared to believe it – had she perhaps fallen asleep in her dorm earlier? Just hours ago, she never would have believed that in due time, she would find herself taking a night stroll with a certain Ron Weasley, acting very civilized and mature (which was quite unordinary in Ron's company). In fact, each was trying so hard not to provoke the other that the atmosphere seemed strained, even almost fake. Hermione didn't like it. It just wasn't right. She was waiting for something; she had been for many minutes now, ever since her outburst in the staff room. Had she once again overestimated Ron? As before, would he fail to meet her expectations? She had been hoping that this time, it would be different; she was giving Ron, and herself, a second chance. But would he take it? It was now beginning to seem unlikely.

The silence droned on, as unwavering as ever. Hermione found herself wishing that she were back in the staff room or in her dorm, even. It seemed as if their "walk" had served its purpose, though she was not quite sure what that was. If it was getting her and Ron back onto mild speaking terms, then she was certainly ready to call it a night. The day had been long and draining and she was now yearning for the serenity of sleep.

The two adults turned another corner and suddenly found themselves in an all-too-familiar corridor. Hermione's breath caught in her chest; she recognized the flooring, the walls, the tapestries, everything. The thing she recognized the most, however, was the large portrait hanging on the wall halfway down the hall, a portrait depicting a very fat lady snoozing on the side of her frame. Hermione sensed a change in Ron's manner as well and knew his thoughts were quite similar to her's; he was remembering.

"Haven't been down here in a while," he muttered.

Ron was right. Hermione hadn't yet traveled down this particular hallway during her reign as Transfiguration professor. She also hadn't visited it, she realized, in nearly six years. The corridor leading to the Gryffindor common room remained unchanged and looked exactly as she remembered it. The Fat Lady obviously had not noticed the two Hogwarts graduates, but she did seem to be in a rather deep slumber. Hermione preferred it that way – she wasn't in the mood to chatter with the portrait she had passed through every day for so many years, at least not so late at night.

"Hermione," Ron said abruptly. He stopped and caught her arm, pulling her around to face him.

He halted. Hermione kept quiet, examining his expression, and waited with bated breath. She physically felt her heart quicken with every passing second. Could this be it? After six years, was it finally going to end, here and now, at nighttime in the middle of the Gryffindor corridor?

"Look, I – there's something I need to say," he muttered. His ears colored slightly as he talked, but he kept his gaze firm and did not take his eyes from Hermione's face.

"I was a git, I know. It might be a bit too late for that now, but…what I mean is, that day, after we…er, well, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean anything I said. I just wasn't – thinking clearly. I just – I'm sorry."

Another silence followed Ron's short speech. Hermione, for once in her life, did not know what to say. She'd been waiting for those two powerful words for years, and now that she had finally heard them, her voice and her mind seemed to fail her. All she could do was stare at Ron, her mouth slightly open.

"I'm sorry about everything."

The Fat Lady snorted and mumbled something in her sleep about second years abusing school rules at night. When she returned to her slumber, the silence between Ron and Hermione stretched on. From Ron's countenance, it seemed that he was feeling the same way Hermione had when _she_ had apologized to him. For some strange and unfathomable reason, this made her want to grin, and she felt the corners of her lips tugging upwards.

"What?" he asked quickly.

"Oh…_Ron_!" And without a second's warning, Hermione had launched herself at Ron. She threw her arms around his neck, causing him to stagger backwards slightly. He seemed surprised, and after a moment in which he obviously decided Hermione wasn't going to hit him, he returned the favor and wrapped his arms around her. Hermione's eyes stung with fresh tears of happiness but she restrained herself from openly crying on Ron's shoulder (crying _again_ would undoubtedly be the last straw).

"I'm so sorry, Ron, I really am; six years is _ridiculous_! I was so young and stupid and I had no idea what I was talking about – "

"You're not the only one – "

"I don't know what I was thinking, the last day was just so _awful_, and I thought I'd be able to block you and Harry out for the rest of my life but when you showed up here at Hogwarts I knew it was impossible and I knew I had been wrong and it was all a mistake and – "

"Hermione, _breathe_," Ron said, loosening his grip and pulling back to face her and grin. He still clutched onto her arms, and Hermione couldn't help but grin back. She didn't know what to think or do – the words just tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, six years' worth of bottled up feelings finally erupting inside her. She wouldn't break down again, she just _could not_, but it was very difficult for the Transfiguration professor to keep calm and sane. Standing there in the Gryffindor corridor with Ron holding her arms and bearing such a warm smile, Hermione was absolutely elated. All dark thoughts concerning Lestrange and the Death Eaters and the danger they were all in vanished; a small, distant voice in the back of her head even said, _Who cares? You and Ron have finally made up. Leave the matter of Lestrange alone for now_.

An odd noise behind them caused Ron and Hermione to jump and swivel around. The Fat Lady had awoken from her sleep and was looking down upon them with a half-astonished, half-mischievous smirk. When she finally seemed to realize who they were exactly, she let out a hoarse squeal, causing both Ron and Hermione to jump.

"Goodness me," she murmured, squinting slightly to get a better look at the couple. "Could it be? You two have finally returned to visit me, after all these years? A bit old to still be going to school here, aren't you?"

"I'm teaching," Hermione said quickly, with a hint of pride. "And Ron's – helping McGonagall."

The Fat Lady nodded and yawned widely. "And where's your friend? I'd've thought he'd be with you, since you three were always sneaking out late and night and waking me up to go back into the common room. Should've just let you sleep out here."

"He's busy," Ron said, grinning noticeably. He began backing away from the portrait slowly, his hand still clutching Hermione's arm tightly. Obviously, Hermione reasoned, the same thought was on his mind, and neither of them was very eager to stay and chat with the Fat Lady. It would surely take quite a long time to catch up after six years, and truthfully, neither adult ever really considered the animated portrait a close friend worthy of such valuable time.

"And where are you going?" the Fat Lady asked. Her face fell a bit as she watched Hermione and Ron retreating inch-by-inch back down the corridor. "Aren't you going to stay? It's been so long. The students just aren't what they used to be," she sighed, her posture drooping a little in her frame. "All little pricks and quite cheeky to boot. You tell McGonagall she needs better security around here. I am _dreadfully_ tired of waking up at ungodly hours to let disrespectful little third-years back into the common room!"

"We'll let her know," said Ron. "And we'll tell Harry you've said hello. Maybe we'll send him on by if we're feeling especially vengeful towards him. Have a good night!"

Before the Fat Lady could say anything else, Ron turned Hermione and pulled her down the corridor, clutching her hand securely. Both were grinning from ear to ear and were trying very hard to suppress giggles. Hermione did not care that they had run into their old common room portrait; honestly, she wouldn't have cared if she ran into Peeves and he dumped a bucket of toad spleens on top of her head (fortunately, Peeves had been evicted long ago from the castle, or so she had been told, but she highly suspected he left of his own accord, as Peeves never showed any inclination to leave the castle at the request of his superiors during her own schooldays). As she and Ron careened through the Hogwarts hallways back to the warmth and sanctuary of the staff room, she firmly believed that nothing in the world could spoil her good mood, because she and Ron were friends again. Everything was perfect.

* * *

But the illusion of perfection was quickly diminished for Hermione, and reality once again set in, as reality always does when one least expects it. Though a certain area of her life was finally repaired, much to her euphoria, others only continued to prove more demanding and problematical. In no time at all, February and the slowly diminishing wintry conditions faded into March, which brought sunshine and young, reborn life to the Hogwarts grounds. The gloomy sense of despair that had been prevailing over the castle for many weeks seemed to dissolve slightly in light of the uplifting weather. Students of all years were vigorously studying for their upcoming exams (which were looming ever closer, now only three short months away) while their professors busied themselves with their own work of preparing the students. As expected, no student was quick to forget the events of the past few months and all residents of Hogwarts castle remained as watchful as ever, but Hermione sensed a noticeable change for the better in the school's atmosphere, a change in the attitudes of both the students and professors. They all seemed stronger, more united, perhaps, and ready to face any other challenge that would undoubtedly be directed their way. She nor anyone else would not begin to hope that the mysterious happenings were over just because nothing out of the ordinary had occurred lately, because Hermione was clever enough to deduce that whenever she began to think it _was_ finally over, she would only be proved wrong again in the worst way possible. 

Preparing the students for their exams soon became harder than Hermione had ever dared to believe. She often wondered how teachers who had been at Hogwarts for so long, such as Professors Flitwick or Sprout, made it through year after year without completely going insane. Other things were almost always on her mind, but Hermione made it her top priority to pull all of her Transfiguration students through the lessons, organizing everything to the very last detail and ensuring that they would be ready come exam time. While June had once seemed so very far away, now it didn't seem far enough.

During these March weeks, her classes weren't, however, her most strenuous task at hand. She, Ron, and Harry, all broken ties repaired and friendships mended, had taken to spending nearly all their nights together, sitting at small, round tables, deep in discussion by the glow of candlelight. The raid on Harry's room had drawn much attention to the odd, neglected book the students had attempted to steal (all of whom were now doing reasonably well, considering a couple had been Stunned; the Head Girl, unfortunately, was forced to spend a night in St. Mungo's and undergo a demanding questioning the next day, only revealing what everyone expected – she nor any of the others remembered anything), and though Harry had been thoroughly reading through the book during his spare time, he had come across nothing of interest. Late one night, in the staff common room, Harry had revealed to Ron and Hermione that the book seemed to focus on the ancient magic of Greek wizards. None of the three had any idea why this would be relevant or even important to Bellatrix Lestrange, but at Hermione's urging, the three continued to pursue the book at night when they were sure they wouldn't be interrupted.

On one particular evening, after a suspenseful Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin nearly leaving the latter house in tears of disappointment at their loss, the staff room was especially busy and noisy and full of excited professors. Hermione had never been much of a Quidditch fan (and would never admit this in the prescence of Harry or Ron) and was slightly surprised at how closely many professors seemed to follow the game. She would have expected Ginny to be quite a fan (Ginny had gone to the game decked out in Ravenclaw colors and, even though she was a professor, did not seem to think it was inappropriate to chose sides with her students), but she never would have thought other teachers, such as tiny little Professor Flitwick or quiet Jeffery Yang, could carry on so much in the staff room after the game. It took hours for the small staff party to finally end; Desdemona passed out on top of a long table after doing a jig at the request of Ron, Bella and Harry both seemed particularly bubbly and spent most of their time laughing together in a corner, and nearly everyone was intoxicated with the warmth of butterbeer, though the details on how the drinks had arrived were quite blurry and suspicious. At last, when Ginny carted a snoring Desdemona off to bed, Ron, Hermione, and a still slightly-bubbly Harry gathered around the only table not strewn with empty butterbeer bottles, and Harry drew out the small, black book from inside his robes.

"I don't know why we're still wasting our time on this," Ron groaned, as he always did in some form or another every time the trio began scanning the pages of the book. "This has got to be, I dunno, the fiftieth time we've done this."

"Have a butterbeer, mate," Harry said suddenly. He pushed a half-empty bottle towards Ron, grinning stupidly. Ron glanced incredulously at Hermione, and as Hermione ran her finger down page five yet again, she vaguely wondered whether Bella had practiced a Cheering Charm on Harry.

"Come off it, Hermione," Ron tried again. "If we haven't found anything by now, what makes you think tonight will be any different?"

"Ron, why else would those students break into Harry's room and attempt to take this book?" Hermione countered. She turned the page and stared at the small never _eleven_ at the bottom and felt like she had gone through the book so many times she could probably recite it by now. Her eyes blurred slightly and flickered towards her watch; the time read ten till midnight.

"But they _didn't_ get the book," Ron said, his voice sounding rather strained and beseeching now. "Whatever Lestrange wanted in there, she won't have, will she? So what does it matter if we know what it is or not?"

Hermione didn't reply and instead ran her eyes down page sixteen, admittedly hardly taking in a single word. She had gone over every page so often that the words now all seemed to run together, becoming a large, meaningless blur. The logical half of her brain considered Ron's argument and began wondering if he was in fact correct. Perhaps Lestrange only wanted to do a bit of background reading on Greek wizards; did that seem so harmless?

Hermione mentally kicked herself. Of course it wasn't harmless. Bellatrix Lestrange was capable of everything far worse than harmless and would never result to something so innocent as background reading. She knew the late hour was definitely getting to her and suddenly yearned to go to bed – they could continue their search tomorrow, anyway. Perhaps a night off would do them all some good.

"Hey, Hermione, let me have a go," Harry said. His grin had faded a little and he seemed slightly less cheerful, and since Hermione had just been overcome by an intense wave of drowsiness, she didn't object and pushed the book towards Harry.

The staff room soon grew completely quiet, save for the nearly inaudible ticking of Hermione's watch and pages being turned by Harry at unsystematic intervals. Every so often, Hermione checked the time; seconds seemed to be crawling by at a snail's pace. Ron had long ago fallen asleep and his snores were growing steadily louder against the silence. No more words were spoken amongst the trio (and, after Ron fell asleep, just Harry and Hermione); Harry made no comments about the book, only confirming Hermione's worst fears that the book was proving to be useless. Her eyelids were now beginning to droop…she closed them, just for a minute, and noted how wonderful the feeling felt…she would only rest them for a moment, because she was so very tired, but she wouldn't fall asleep, she just couldn't…

Suddenly, just as Hermione was falling into a light slumber about broomsticks and butterbeer bottles, Harry slammed his hand onto the edge of the table. Ron snorted and fell off his chair, and as Hermione slowly opened her unwilling eyelids, she saw that Harry was staring at a page of the book, his eyes wide.

"Wha's it?" Ron slurred, appearing above the table and setting himself in his chair again.

"_Gnomi Elencho_," Harry enunciated.

"What?" Hermione asked. She was now completely awake and alert, her heart beating fast at the thought of all their hard work of studying the book finally paying off.

"_Gnomi Elencho_," Harry repeated. He pointed to a spot halfway down page sixty-one. "Right here, on this page." His former bubbly attitude had by now completely worn off, and the Harry Hermione was accustomed to in situations like these had returned. His voice was quick and excited and his expression was one of stimulation.

"Harry, what's – wait a moment," Hermione said slowly. A memory was coming back to her, something from the meeting they had held with the Aurors at Christmas. She could picture the large group gathered together in the hidden room, and suddenly Romina's face swam into view, talking to Harry…then another vision appeared in her mind; she was seated at a bar, her head down, and two men were talking amongst themselves at her side…

"It's the book," said Harry. "The book that Lestrange found out in Eastern Europe. Hermione, it's what the Death Eaters at the club were talking about the night you overheard them, remember?"

Ron was looking from Hermione to Harry in complete confusion and massaging his head from where he had toppled to the floor. "What the hell is this, Harry? What book? What's Lestrange got to do with this?"

"And Romina – Harry, when the Aurors came on Christmas for the meeting, Romina said –"

"She read the term _Gnomi Elencho_ in a book somewhere," Harry finished. A vacant expression crossed his face and Hermione had the feeling he was deep in thought, concentrating everything on retrieving the exact conversation from the meeting. "It's this book!"

"_What book_?" Ron demanded.

"Romina said she thought she recognized the term from a book in the Ministry library. She took this from the Ministry and lent it to me, when I went on that mission to the Middle East, because the wizards in the Dark Arts ring I were after all descended from ancient Greeks."

"So Bellatrix Lestrange found a book about _Gnomi Elencho_," Hermione continued, piecing the story together in her mind as she talked, "and wanted your book, Harry, because she thought it would be of use to her. Apparently, she doesn't know what _Gnomi Elencho _is, but your book doesn't say much about it, does it?"

Harry shook his head. "All it says is, 'Gnomi Elencho_, one of many Dark talents fashioned by the ancient Greeks, proved useful for the people during their flourishing years until the practice of it was outlawed throughout the magical world._' Then it just goes on to talk about their 'flourishing years.'"

"And what the hell is this _Gnomi Elencho_?" Ron interjected.

For the first time in minutes after Harry's enthusiastic revelation, there was silence once again. Harry gazed down at the book, his eyes traveling back and forth rapidly (he appeared to be re-reading the passage about _Gnomi Elencho_ over and over). Hermione realized that she didn't know what the term meant, and didn't know anything about it, really, other than that it was Greek and related to the ancient Greek people.

"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "The book…doesn't say."

"So Lestrange's involved after all?" Ron asked.

"Honestly, Ron, when _isn't_ she involved?" snapped Hermione. "Don't be thick. But what use is this _Gnomi Elencho_ to her? It must be awfully important if she's willing to have four students break into Harry's room to steal another book with hardly any information on it at all."

"I reckon she didn't know that," Ron muttered.

"You know," Harry said suddenly, with the tone of someone who just realized their birthday was tomorrow, "if this term is truly Greek, I think it could be translated into English."

"I figured as much," Hermione said. "And _Gnomi Elencho_ _does_ sound familiar to me, now that I think about it. I'm almost sure I've read about it somewhere, but I just can't recall…"

"You've read half the world, Hermione," Ron sighed. "I still don't understand how you can remember any of it."

Hermione ignored Ron's comment and turned to Harry. "You should send a letter to Auror Headquarters straight away, Harry. Moody and Romina especially would want to know about this, and it seems awfully imperative to me. If we find out what _Gnomi Elencho _means, it could tell us what Lestrange has been up to all these months. It could be the key to _everything_."

"We just need to translate it," said Harry. He reached across the table and grabbed a spare bit of parchment that had been lying there, pulled out his quill, and began scribbling a note addressed to Mad-Eye.

"This – this is crazy," Ron said croakily. "I – you actually think this all makes sense?" he asked Hermione.

"Haven't you been paying attention, Ron?" Hermione implored. "Everything fits! The students raided Harry's room in hopes of coming across his book and returning it to Lestrange, because she doesn't know what _Gnomi Elencho _is and thought the book could help her. My guess is that the _Gnomi Elencho_ itself is in all Greek, which would explain why she's having trouble deciphering it. That's what the Death Eaters were doing in Eastern Europe; they were searching for the book, and I'm not all that sure it's good they've found it – "

Ron scoffed and looked to Harry, who was concentrating on his letter to the Aurors. When Harry did not disagree with Hermione, Ron said defiantly, "You actually think it's important, then? The _Gnomi Elencho_ or whatever? We've got students attacking and being attacked and Death Eaters in Hogsmeade clubs, and all you want to worry about is some stupid and probably unimportant book Bellatrix Lestrange can't even read?"

"That's not the point, Ron – "

"Right, I'm off to the Owlery to send this now," Harry interrupted, having not been paying attention to Ron and Hermione's growing argument or either wisely choosing to ignore it. He stood with his letter in hand and started towards the door. "I think we should leave it here for tonight, and tomorrow we can look in the library for any Greek translation books. If we can't find them there, there's got to be some at the Ministry…I'm sure Mad-Eye can find something for us, I asked him in the letter."

Within seconds, the door behind Harry closed with a muted snap, leaving the staff room still once more. Ron and Hermione stared at one another, more disagreeable bickering surely on the way, but Hermione quickly reminded herself they had just made up from their last fight and gave in with a sigh. Her watch now read past one o'clock in the morning.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, pushing back her chair and standing.

"Good idea," Ron muttered. "See you in the morning."

Hermione snatched Harry's discarded little book from the small table she had spent so many hours at and made her way across the room and towards the staircase that led to the professors' dormitories, Ron not far behind her. Complicated emotions and excited thoughts swirled around her mind, but minutes later all thought was extinguished gratefully as Hermione sank onto her four-poster, completely dressed, and drifted off into a much needed sleep.

* * *

"I would like the essay on my desk by tomorrow, all twenty-four inches and not one less." 

Hermione's seventh-year class groaned audibly at this assignment, some bolder students protesting loudly and rudely, causing the professor to dock several points from their houses without flinching. It was not uncommon for Hermione and other professors to set such challenging homework tasks for the seventh years, and though the students themselves argued that this was completely unfair, Hermione's retaliation was that the most important exam of their lives would soon be upon them and it was her duty to make sure they would be prepared.

"But _Professor_," whined one student that suggested he could have been a first-year rather than a seventh-year as far as maturity went, "King just set us Slytherins an impossible essay that's to be _four pages long_, and it's also due tomorrow!"

"Don't forget the report for Flitwick, it's not as long but I'd say it's certainly harder, and I don't even know what a Mulchingus Charm _is_ – "

"Not to mention we've got Quidditch practice all week!" shouted a tall, male Gryffindor. "We won't let those blasted Slytherins take the cup from us this year, so our Captain's having us out on the field every night possible and I can't even find time for my Wizard's Chess Club anymore – "

There was a sudden uproar on the other side of the room as the Slytherins all began shouting quite nasty comments at the Gryffindor Quidditch players about who had the advantage to win the Cup (them, of course). The Gryffindors reacted quickly, insulting the Slytherins and obviously forgetting a professor that was already in quite an aggravated mood was still in the room, ready to dock more points when she was given the chance.

"Your Seeker couldn't catch the Snitch any better than if she were blindfolded – "

"I could say the same thing about _your_ Seeker!"

"Don't _even_ get me started on your Beaters – "

"SILENCE!"

The room immediately fell quiet and all eyes strayed to Hermione, who was standing behind her desk, her wand out, and a fire blazing in her eyes. It appeared as if everyone _had_ forgotten she was still there. Now the Gryffindors and Slytherins who had engaged in the shouting match all dropped their gazes, their cheeks touching pink.

"Fifteen points from both houses," said the professor. No one dared to groan again. "I have never seen such impertinence from seventh-year students. If you wish to carry on in this juvenile manner about _Quidditch_, please refrain from doing so inside my classroom, or else I will be forced to take away more points until Gryffindor and Slytherin are both left with nothing.

"The essay is due tomorrow and I expect it in this classroom and ready to be turned in when the bell rings. As I have said countless times before, you are receiving an unnatural amount of homework because the other professors and I only have your best interests at heart and wish to see you pass your exams successfully. If you feel you do not need our guidance and do not care whether or not you excel come June, then please let me know, and I will step aside and watch you fail without the smallest trace of remorse."

None of the seventh-years met Hermione's gaze and all kept their mouths shut. Though Hermione was highly agitated, she smiled slightly to herself, always amazed at the power she had over her students. The feeling of superiority was very self-satisfying.

"Right, there are a few minutes left before the bell sounds for dinner, so let's continue on with the lesson. As a review question, who can list the proper steps a wizard must take before he or she performs a partial transfiguration of the human body?"

Scattered hands were raised across the classroom, the hands belonging to rather brave owners who dared speak to their professor even after her scolding. Hermione called on a blonde girl in the fourth row and was listening intently to her quite accurate answer when the door to the classroom suddenly flew open. The girl, a Ravenclaw, halted in her answer and turned around in her chair along with the rest of her classmates to see who had arrived on the threshold of the room.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said placidly, as Ron hurried into the room and toward her desk. She was accustomed to Ron's frequent visits now and did not mind them as much as she used to. Ron _had _proved to be quite helpful and did retain more knowledge about the subject of Transfiguration than Hermione had thought.

"Miss Blake was just telling me the proper steps a wizard must take before he or she per – "

"Hermione, the Aurors owled Harry back," Ron interrupted in a low voice upon approaching her desk. He was out of breath and appeared to have run to the Transfiguration classroom. Hermione noted that he seemed eager and excited, just as Harry had the night they discovered the mentioning of _Gnomi Elencho_ in his book. That had been nearly a week ago, however, and although Harry had sent a letter to the Ministry straight away, they hadn't heard back yet from Moody or any of the others. Until now, that is.

"And this is important enough to interrupt my class?" Hermione snapped back, feeling slightly annoyed. Couldn't this news have waited until the bell rang, which was only minutes away?

"They sent another book," Ron continued as if he hadn't heard her, "and I'm not sure what it is, Harry was a bit vague about it which makes me think it was obtained illegally – "

"_Illegally_?"

" – but they're doing research too and Mad-Eye wants us to look through this one and – and can't you just come now? Harry's in the staff room, he told me to go and fetch you – "

"Ron, I can't leave my class!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, glancing at the students behind Ron's back. They were all watching avidly, most in the front row trying to catch snippets of the conversation, and broke off into whispers at regular intervals. Hermione knew the students had their suspicions about her and Ron and was sure their hushed discussion only confirmed their beliefs.

"This is important, Hermione," Ron said firmly.

"I know, but it can wait until later, can't it? Besides," she added quickly upon seeing a flicker of fury cross Ron's face, "the staff room will be packed, all the teachers are going to stop for coffee before heading down to dinner like they always do, and we can't exactly go through an illegal book imported from God knows where in the prescence of a dozen professors."

"The library's open through dinner, isn't it?"

"Yes, of cour – _Ron_, you aren't listening to what I'm saying!" Hermione hissed. She raised a hand in exasperation and began gesturing. "You _don't understand_ the importance of the exams, you _never_ have, and you're wasting the students' time standing here arguing with me – "

Ron suddenly reached out and grabbed Hermione's outstretched hand. She immediately halted in her lecture and gazed dazedly at their conjoined hands, completely forgetting what she had been going on about. But a distinct cough from the class of students behind them snapped her back to her senses and she quickly wrenched her hand from Ron's grip, determinedly avoiding his stare and letting her eyes fall to the floor.

"Hermione, if the Death Eaters attack us before June, there aren't going to _be_ any exams," Ron said sternly in a voice that more or less sounded like her own.

"What makes you think they're going to attack us?"

"Er – nothing," Ron replied quickly, a bit too quickly for Hermione's satisfaction. "They're not, I mean, I didn't mean to say it like – "

"What _did_ you mean?"

"Hermione, Harry needs you now," Ron said, dropping the former subject. "Moody seems to think the book he's sent us might be of some use, but – _please_ just come?"

"Professor, er, I don't mean to…interrupt, but – ?"

The timid voice that issued from the corner of the room startled Hermione. She had nearly forgotten her students were still present and suddenly realized how long Ron and she had been discussing suspiciously at the front of the classroom for all of them to witness. She stepped around Ron, faced the assembled seventh-years, and said loudly, "I apologize for wasting your time. You all may leave early today and we'll pick up tomorrow on where we left off, but _don't_ forget your essay due tomorrow. I will not be lenient on those who fail to meet my expectations."

As the students began to stuff their books back into their bags, Hermione turned resolutely to face Ron and found that he was grinning. She kept her head up and her posture tight, as if to say that even though she gave in to Ron's begging it did not mean he was not any stronger than she was. But Ron did not say anything, as Hermione had expected him to, and instead grabbed her hand again and pulled her down the middle row of the classroom quickly. As they passed, students looked up and smirked but Hermione barely noticed; all that was on her mind now was whatever Harry had received from the Aurors. She had become more involved in the case than she had ever thought she would and now felt as if it were her personal duty to solve the mystery surrounding the _Gnomi Elencho_ book and Lestrange.

Minutes later, Ron, Harry, and Hermione arrived outside the Hogwarts library, Harry holding a large and dusty-looking book in his arms. They entered the library and checked the front desk, but the librarian, Madam Pince, did not seem to be present. Hermione wondered whether she was at dinner with the rest of the staff, though she never recalled seeing the snippy old librarian at the head table, but put the thought out of her mind as she led the way to the back of the library. There, placed next to a tall, clear window, was her favorite table as a youth at Hogwarts. She couldn't help but grin.

"You're the only person I know who smiles because she's in a library," Ron commented slyly. Hermione stepped on his foot without a second thought and made her way towards the table, Harry and a limping Ron following.

They pulled up three chairs, seated themselves in them, and Harry slammed the large volume onto the small, round table.

"Moody sent this to you, Harry?" Hermione asked. Ron gave her look as if to say _I've already explained this to you_, but Hermione did not feel Ron explained it thoroughly back in her classroom and wanted to hear it first-hand from Harry.

"Yeah," he said, opening the book and brushing dust off the first page. "I got a letter back from him and the other Aurors just before Ron went off to get you. They're really interested in this _Gnomi Elencho_ now and Mad-Eye said we're all fools for not investigating it any sooner. He reckons Lestrange could do some damage with the book in her hands, but seeing as we don't know where she is or what the book's about, there doesn't seem like much we can do."

"Except translate the term," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Right. The Ministry's banned all Aurors from accessing the Ministry library now, which is damn wrong, if you ask me, but Romina managed to sneak out a couple books the other day and they're looking through them now. This book, though," he said, gesturing down to page three of the hefty volume, "came from Wales. Basil Hardy has a friend whose family is Greek, so he managed to persuade him to lend this to us. The problem is, exporting it from Wales to England is illegal between the two Ministries, so we had to go through a few – er, steps, you could say – to get it here."

"In other words, we received it illegitimately," Hermione said shrewdly.

"That's not the point," Harry said dismissively. "The Ministry won't find out – well, if they do, I have a feeling the Minister will just go and fire all the Aurors at once, but there were enough precautions around the book's importing that it isn't possible for them to ever know."

"So why this book?" Hermione asked.

Harry was now brushing aged dust off the bottom half of page five and began running his fingers over the lines. "Hardy's Welsh friend said this one contains information about the magical practices of the ancient Greeks. _Gnomi Elencho_ would most likely fall into that category. Of course, the books Moody and the others are going through right now are all supposedly about the ancient Greeks too, so between all of us, hopefully we'll come across the term and figure out what the hell Bellatrix Lestrange wants with it."

"How can we help?" said Ron, watching Harry skim over the pages of the book.

"You two go over that half, and I'll take this one," Harry said, pointing out the assignments. The book and its pages were so large that it honestly did seem to require three grown adults to peruse it at once. Harry turned another page and began looking down it, Ron and Hermione taking the other side.

During the next few minutes, nothing of interest jumped out at Hermione. The ancient Greeks were fascinating, she knew, but she had already read countless books about them and found this one rather tedious and hard to follow. Some of their ancient practices were quite gruesome and disturbing, however, and she admittedly was not enjoying reading about them. But _Gnomi Elencho_ still seemed to be absent.

Twenty minutes passed and amongst the trio, nothing about the mysterious term had been spoken. The book was written in such a way that the term could come up at any time, Hermione felt, but thus far, it had not. She checked the entrance of the library at regular intervals, ready to jump up and hide the book at any given time. It was an unspoken agreement amongst the three that it would be best if no one found them in the company of an illegal book.

Suddenly, when Hermione was halfway down page twenty-six, she remembered something Ron had mentioned earlier in her classroom. Her eyes left the grimy page and traveled over to Harry; his head was bent and he was avidly reading the text, his mouth moving as he absorbed the words.

"Harry," Hermione said, breaking the silence. He didn't look up, but nodded to suggest that he had heard her. "Do you think the Death Eaters would come here and attack Hogwarts?"

She noted a disturbance in Harry's eyes and realized he had stopped reading, though his eyes were still fastened on the page. "They don't really have any reason to, do they?" he answered in a questioning tone. Hermione detested having her question answered with another question and narrowed her eyes at Harry. She would not let him off so easy this time.

"Are you sure about that?" She now noticed that Ron too had halted in his reading. He raised his head to stare at Hermione, a blank expression inhabiting his face.

"Why are you asking?" said Harry, still pretending to be studying the book.

"Oh, just something Ron said earlier," Hermione answered airily. Harry's head suddenly shot up and he glared noticeably across the table at Ron, who shook his head slightly in response. Though Hermione did not understand their strange language of male movements, she knew something was up.

"They _wouldn't_ come to Hogwarts, would they?"

"Ron, I told you not to mention it!" Harry hissed.

"I didn't mean to, mate, it just – kind of slipped out – "

"Mention what?" Hermione pressed. "Harry, what are you talking about? What aren't you telling me?"

"It's nothing, Hermione," Harry muttered. He cast his eyes down towards the book again. This time, Hermione was sure he wasn't reading and knew something else was on his mind.

"No, it is not _nothing_, Harry, don't lie to me. If you don't tell me, Ron will."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, no doubt quite loudly, but Harry finally gave in. He raised his head again, looking much older that moment than he ever had, and stared Hermione strongly in the eyes.

"You haven't figured it out by now?" he asked her quietly. It wasn't a rough or sarcastic question but one that was soft and composed. "Lestrange and the Death Eaters have been moving in a steady northwestern direction for months now. I hadn't realized it myself until Moody mentioned it, but – they're coming here, Hermione. To Hogwarts. They're coming for me. For us."

Hermione gaped at Harry, unable to form any coherent sentences, as she let Harry's words sink painfully into her brain. Why hadn't she deduced that before? It was so obvious. Of _course_ they were coming for Harry, and any who assisted him; Lestrange and the remaining Death Eaters had wanted Harry dead for as long as Hermione could remember. By now he must seem a menace to them, an annoying thorn in their sides, but how did Harry, Ron, and even she all tie into their grand scheme? What did they honestly have to gain by traveling northwestern to Hogwarts, only to enter the school and murder the ones who stood in their way for so many years?

"Hey, Harry – here it is! I've found it!" Ron exclaimed abruptly while poking at a paragraph in the center of page thirty-one. Hermione and Harry leaned forward to read the certain section of the book, Hermione's heart pumping unnaturally fast. This was it. Everything would come to a head here, everything they had been searching for was right at the very tips of their fingers. She bowed her head against Ron and Harry's as Ron began to read aloud.

"_Gnomi Elencho, originally created by the renowned Sir Achelous Elencho of the twelfth century, was a most admired form of magical art during the times of the ancient Greeks. Popular amongst the gifted and skilled and later mastered by the powerful Dark warlock Demogorgon, Gnomi Elencho was an ability one witch or wizard usually was born with, though it has been said to be possible for dedicated witches or wizards to obtain the ability through strenuous mental practice. It was afterward outlawed in later centuries due to its widespread misuse for torture and malevolence. While it is extremely rare and entirely uncommon for witches or wizards of the current age to be born with the discussed ability, Gnomi Elencho is said to be almost completely lost to the times of the ancient Greeks. When broken down accurately, the term can be translated into the English language literally referring to the art of magical mind-control, quite different and highly more effective than the present-day Imperius Curse._"

Ron stopped in his reading of the passage to stare up at Hermione and Harry. The three sat motionless for several long seconds, silence prevailing around them (save for the remote clattering of footsteps, clearing indicating that dinner was ending), none seeming able to speak. Hermione felt numb and distant from her body and did not know of anything commonsensical to say. So instead she took to staring into the blank faces of her two friends, who looked as equally astonished as she felt.

Finally, Harry broke the silence and said in a croaky voice, "Mind-control. That's what she's using over the students. _Mind-control_."

"Isn't that…isn't that a bit of a, well, myth?" Hermione asked, the rational part of her brain taking over momentarily. "You don't really think 'mind-control' exists…do you?"

"How can it be different than the Imperius Curse?" said Ron, furrowing his brow deeply. "I've always thought that's pretty much as controlling as it gets. Aren't they the same thing, then?"

"No, they aren't," Harry said vaguely to no one in particular. He was gazing down at the page of the book, his eyes unfocused and looking quite distant. Hermione knew this time he was actually studying the page. "Ron, you didn't read on far enough. It says here that while it _is_ possible to break out of Imperius, it's almost completely impossible to break out of _Gnomi Elencho_. In fact, it's so impossible that no one in history has ever been recorded of doing so. I've broken out of _Imperio_, it honestly isn't that difficult – "

"I have too," Hermione added.

"This is different, though, because you control others through _Gnomi Elencho_ literally with your mind. You don't need a wand or anything, there aren't any spells or curses, which means there aren't any counter-curses, either. The one who initiates _Gnomi Elencho_ is the only one who can stop it. Apparently, you can put anyone under – well, I suppose it is mind-control, then, isn't it? They can stay in that state of mind for as long as you like, the book says."

"Is it possible for Lestrange to be the one doing it, though?" questioned Hermione. "She's quite far away, Harry, even if she is nearing Hogwarts."

"But she doesn't seem to know much about _Gnomi Elencho_," Ron pointed out. "She's gotten a hold of the real book and doesn't know how to work it. That's why she sent the students – no, _controlled_ the students to steal the other book from Harry's room."

"She can't have controlled them, Ron," said Hermione. "If she wants to learn more about it, then she probably can't do it herself, can she? So how could she have controlled the four students into raiding Harry's dorm?"

"The book doesn't say anything about distance," Harry said. "I reckon it isn't possible to do it miles away in another country. Then again, we don't know exactly where Lestrange is right now, but I doubt she's here in England yet. And if she isn't the one controlling them…then who is? And why's she so interested in _Gnomi Elencho_?"

"Harry, Lestrange probably thinks she can use this to, well, take over the wizarding world or something like that, doesn't she?" Hermione said logically, thinking it was clearly obvious. "At least, most Dark wizards would be likely to think that way, I'd assume. Just imagine the possibilities at hand when one has the ability of complete mind-control. It's pure power, and someone like Lestrange who thinks they are the only one capable of dominating the world with Death Eaters would not pass up an opportunity like this."

"But," Harry started, screwing up his face in contemplation, "I don't understand one thing. If Lestrange herself isn't responsible with the use of _Gnomi Elencho_, then…who is?"

"Another Death Eater, maybe?" Ron suggested half-heartedly. "There were those two in that club at Christmas, don't forget."

"I doubt either one of them are capable of anything more than waving a wand," Hermione said sardonically. Harry and Ron looked to her expectantly, as both of them were at loss for an answer, but Hermione sighed and lowered her eyes. "I don't know, Harry. I don't understand it either."


End file.
